There she paused and took one of her husband's big hands fondly in both her own.

"It's perfectly wonderful, Paul--and I'm proud of you!" she said.

"But, honestly, dear, I can enjoy it so much better at four o'clock this afternoon." Smiling, Blackton lifted her into the buckboard.
"That's why I wish Paul had been a preacher or something like that," she confided to Joanne as they drove homeward.

"I'm growing old just thinking of him working over that horrid dynamite and powder all the time.

Every little while some one is blown into nothing." "I believe," said Joanne, "that I'd like to do something like that if I were a man.