with him and, to spite him, began to go with another young man. But
Tobe didn't seem to care. He kept going to the factory and--well, the
upshot of it was that he married Annie."

"And then the _real_ trouble began," Mostyn said, smiling lightly.

"And actually through no fault of their own," Dolly declared. "He
rented land, bought some supplies on credit, and went to work to make
a crop. You ask father or Uncle John; they will tell you that Tobe
Barnett was the hardest worker in this valley. But ill luck clung to
him like a leach. The drouth killed his first crop, and the winter
caught him in debt. Then Annie got sick--she had exposed herself to
the bad weather milking a cow for a neighbor to earn a little money.
Then no sooner was she up when a wagon ran over Tobe and hurt his foot
so that he could hardly get about. Then the baby came, and their load
of trouble was heavier than ever."

"A case of true love, without doubt," Mostyn said.

"And the prettiest thing on earth," Dolly declared. "Sometimes it
seems to make their poor shack of a place fairly glow with heavenly
light."

"You are a marvel to me, Dolly--you really are!" Mostyn paused, and
she turned to him, a groping look of surprise on her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Why, you have such an original way of speaking," he said, somewhat
abashed by her sudden demand. "I mean--that--that what you say sounds