And then Frank Gridley’s oldest son, Ed, came back from business college with store clothes and city hats and polished tan shoes, and began idling about, calling on the girls.  From the first, he and Susie ran together like two drops of water.  Bronson Perkins, a cousin of mine, a big, silent, ruminative lad who had long hung about Susie, stood no show at all.  One night in county-fair week, Susie, who had gone to the fair with a crowd of girl friends, was not at home at ten o’clock.  Lem, sitting in his doorway and watching the clock, heard the approach of the laughing, singing straw-ride in which she had gone, with a long breath of relief; but the big hay-wagon did not stop at his gate.

He called after it in a harsh voice and was told that “Ed Gridley and she went off to the hotel to get supper.  He said he’d bring her home later.”

Lem went out to the barn, hitched up the faster of his two heavy plow-horses and drove from his house to Woodville, eight miles and up-hill, in forty-five minutes.  When he went into the hotel, the clerk told him that the two he sought had had supper served in a private room.  Lem ascertained which room and broke the door in with one heave of his shoulders.  Susie sprang up from the disordered supper-table and ran to him like a frightened child, clinging to him desperately and crying out that Ed scared her so!

“It’s all right now, Susie,” he said gently, not looking at the man.  “Poppa’s come to take you home.”

The man felt his dignity wounded.  He began to protest boisterously and to declare that he was ready to marry the girl—­“now, this instant, if you choose!”

Lem put one arm about Susie.  “I didn’t come to make you marry her.  I come to keep you from doin’ it,” he said, speaking clearly for once in his life.  “Susie shan’t marry a hound that’d do this.”  And as the other advanced threateningly on him, he struck him a great blow across the mouth that sent him unconscious to the ground.

Then Lem went out, paid for the broken lock, and drove home with Susie behind the foundered plow-horse.

The next spring her engagement to Bronson Perkins was announced, though everybody said they didn’t see what use it was for folks to get engaged that couldn’t ever get married.  Mr. Perkins, Bronson’s father, was daft, not enough to send him to the asylum, but so that he had to be watched all the time to keep him from doing himself a hurt.  He had a horrid way, I remember, of lighting matches and holding them up to his bared arm until the smell of burning flesh went sickeningly through the house and sent someone in a rush to him.  Of course it was out of the question to bring a young bride to such a home.  Apparently there were years of waiting before them, and Susie was made of no stuff to endure a long engagement.

As a matter of fact, they were married that fall, as soon as Susie could get her things ready.  Lem took old Mr. Perkins into the room Susie left vacant. “’Twon’t be much more trouble taking care of two old people than one,” he explained briefly.