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in town has gone but us.” When she said the word “us” I saw a new world. The old post-office seemed like the Congressional Library, the plain glass jars full of striped stick candy began to look like Tiffany’s window; the tobacco smoke from the post-office had the odor of beautiful roses, and I started to speak but my jaws set. She said several things that I didn’t comprehend, and when I came to I heard her say, “Somehow no one asks me to go to places and I should like to go so well.” I steadied myself by taking hold of the fence, as we had started to walk up the street, and I said that I was afraid there was no more livery rigs, and she said, with the sweetest voice you ever heard, a voice that is still ringing, “Can’t you get your father’s old horse and buggy?” “Oh,” I said, “yes, but that ain’t good enough.” “Good enough,” she said, “I thought it was too good and that’s why you never asked me to go in it.” It was now dark and we were nearly opposite our house. Old Don, the horse, was in the calf pasture and the old-fashioned high buggy stood under the wagon shed where it was sometimes for months without being used. So we agreed to