Her eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“Two copies,” I suggested rashly:  “one for you, Ajax; one for me.”

“Ye kin take yer copy in cloth,” said the little woman, compassionately, “sein’ as ye’re only workin’ for yer board.”

“In gold and morocco,” I replied firmly.  “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.  A golden word from mother cannot be fittingly bound in fustian.”

“Ye must hev had awful nice mothers, both of ye,” she said simply.  “Do I sell many books?  No, sir.  Farmer-folks in Californy ain’t got the money ter spend in readin’ matter.  They’re in big luck these times if they kin pay the interest on their mortgages.  With wheat at eighty cents a cental, an’ barley not wuth the haulin’, it seems most an impertinence to ask grangers ter buy books.”

“Do you make twenty dollars a month at the business?”

She shook her head sorrowfully.

“This is September,” said Ajax, “and within six weeks the rains will begin.  What will you do then?”

She regarded him wistfully, but made no reply.

“Your mule,” continued Ajax, “is about played out—­poor beast.  Will you stay here this winter, and keep house for us?  I daresay you cook very nicely; and next spring, if you feel like it, you can start out bookselling again.”

“My cookin’ is sech as white folks kin eat, but——­”

“We will pay you twenty dollars a month.”

“The wages air more’n enough, but——­”

“And the work will be light.”

“I ain’t scar’t o’ work,” she retorted valiantly, “but——­”

“It’s settled, then,” said Ajax, in his masterful way.  “If you’ll get down, I’ll unhitch the mule and put him in the barn.  My brother will show you the house.”

She descended, protesting, but we could not catch the words that fell from her lips.

“You must tell us your name,” said Ajax

“It’s Gloriana,” she faltered.

“Gloriana?  Gloriana—­what?”

“Jes—­Gloriana.”

* * * * *

“She is a type,” said Ajax, a few days later.

“A type of what?”

“Of the women who suffer and are not strong There are many such in this Western country.  I’d like to hear her story.  Is she married or single? old or young? crazy or sane?”

“Gloriana,” I answered, “satisfies our appetites but not our curiosity.”

As time passed, her reticence upon all personal matters became exasperating.  At the end of the first month she demanded and received her salary.  Moreover, refusing our escort, she tramped three dusty miles to the village post-office, and returned penniless but jubilant.  At supper Ajax said—­“It’s more blessed to give than to receive—­eh, Gloriana?”

She compressed her lips, but her eyes were sparkling.  After supper Ajax commented upon her improved appearance in her presence.  He confessed himself at a loss to account for this singular rejuvenescence.