If a man means to be hard, let him keep in his saddle and speak from that height, above the level of pleading eyes, and with the command of a distant horizon.

Mrs.Moss heard the sound of the horse's feet, and, when her brother rode up, was already outside the kitchen door, with a half-weary smile on her face, and a black-eyed baby in her arms.

Mrs.Moss's face bore a faded resemblance to her brother's; baby's little fat hand, pressed against her cheek, seemed to show more strikingly that the cheek was faded.
"Brother, I'm glad to see you," she said, in an affectionate tone.

"I didn't look for you to-day.

How do you do ?" "Oh, pretty well, Mrs.Moss, pretty well," answered the brother, with cool deliberation, as if it were rather too forward of her to ask that question.