wages for this,” he said.

“I guess you don’t need any wages, Mr. Minick,” the woman said. “I guess you’re pretty well fixed.”

“Oh, well, I can’t complain.” (Five hundred a year.)

“Complain! I should say not! If I was to complain it’d be different. Work all day to keep myself; and nobody to come home to at night.”

“Widow, ma’am?”

“Since I was twenty. Work, work, that’s all I’ve had. And lonesome! I suppose you don’t know what lonesome is.”

“Oh, don’t I!” slipped from him. He had dropped the bastings.