new chicken house and explaining how anxious he was to get at it before
the fall rains commenced but that he had so little time, only his
Saturday afternoons and Sundays.

"Let me give you a hand then Saturday, Mr. Burton. I need outdoor work
and I'd enjoy building a chicken house and neighboring properly with
you Green Valley folks. You know I'm new to Green Valley and as long
as I intend to spend the rest of my life here I've a lot to learn."

"Well, there are worse places than Green Valley," admitted Frank,
thinking that the man must be the occupant of some one of the new
bungalows that had gone up that spring and summer.

"Green Valley," continued Frank, "has its faults and its fools and bad
spots here and there in the roads and entirely too much back-fence and
street-corner gossip. But I've seen days here in Green Valley that
just about melt all the meanness out of one, they're so fine; and
moonlight so soft and pure and holy that you wouldn't mind dying in it.
And Green Valley folks are ornery enough on top and when things are
going smoothly for you. But just let there be a smash-up or a stroke
of bad luck and their shells crack and humanness just oozes out of
them. They're about as decent a lot as you'll find anywhere."

This, after a hard day and on an empty stomach, was a remarkable speech
for Frank Burton. He was not much given to voicing his real feelings
and showing his heart to light-hearted Green Valley and usually covered
his deeper sentiments with a sturdy flow of fault-finding.

But there was something magnetic about the young stranger and to his
own growing surprise Frank talked on and enjoyed doing it. The two men