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The perturbed lady wisely let the question pass not being absolutely clear herself as to the operation involved in the casting of lots. She hastened to take up the thread of the story. “Well, time is near up younguns; has any one a question to arsk?” From the lower slopes of the Cedar Hills issued many wide wooded ravines. Of these none were prettier than Spring Coulee which even in winter retained its attractiveness, having a goodly sprinkling of evergreen trees among the poplars and cottonwoods lining its sides. A grassy level formed the bottom of the coulee. Through the centre of this a little crystal-clear stream, rising in the hills behind and swelled by an occasional spring which gushed from the sides of the ravine, danced over its pebbly bed to join Berry Creek a mile away..

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“I sorter hoped Moses’d take arter Uncle Josh, too,” she said, regretfully. She clapped him into her own warm bed, and incredibly soon things were sizzling over the alcohol lamp. At this juncture there was a knock at the door. It was Howard Eliot who had called for Nell. Then Moses commenced. He ran up and down a chromatic scale of puffs and groans and sniffles, ending with a cadence that sounded like, “Gosh dern!”.