``Reckon you won't need that two-hoss
wagon,'' said Buck.
``No, Buck, I think not.'' Buck looked
at the Blight and gave himself the pleasure
of his first chuckle. A big crackling, cheerful
fire awaited us. Through the door I
could see, outstretched on a bed in the next
room, the limp figure of ``pap'' in alcoholic
sleep. The old mother, big, kind-
faced, explained--and there was a heaven
of kindness and charity in her drawling
voice.

``Dad didn' often git that a-way,'' she
said; ``but he'd been out a-huntin' hawgs
that mornin' and had met up with some
teamsters and gone to a political speakin'
and had tuk a dram or two of their mean
whiskey, and not havin' nothin' on his
stummick, hit had all gone to his head.
No, `pap' didn't git that a-way often, and
he'd be all right jes' as soon as he slept it
off a while.'' The old woman moved
about with a cane and the sympathetic
Blight merely looked a question at her.

``Yes, she'd fell down a year ago--and
had sort o' hurt herself--didn't do nothin',
though, 'cept break one hip,'' she added, in
her kind, patient old voice. Did many