JOBE is gone. Last Monday morning bright and airly he started for Lorain to find work. He had hunted and hunted far and near, high and low, around here for work, but couldent find any. Some one told him there was lots of work at Lorain, and poor Jobe decided he would go there.

He only had $2.95. He said he would take the railroad to Medina and walk the rest of the way.

Ile never forgit the mornin he left.

We sot up late the nite before, talkin. We talked over our whole lives—about when we were fust married; about how different times were then and now; about the happiness we had then, and the plans we laid. Jobe was strong and healthy, and so was I. Money was plenty, and people were always lookin for somebody to work for them.

We talked of little Jane; of how we loved her, and how she used to love us. We talked of when she died, and how it nearly killed us; and then we both jist cried as though our hearts would break. We talked of how hard we had worked to try to git along in the world, and how our plans had failed.

Arter we had talked a good long while, and cried, and felt like cryin, Jobe he moved his chair over near to mine, and took my hand in his, and says:

“Betsy, weve had our little differences. I know sometimes I have been tryin. Ive had so much to trouble me that at times I was peevish. But, Betsy, I want you to look over all my failins. You have been a good woman. You have done your dooty, and more than your dooty. It nearly breaks my heart to go so far away and leave you behind; but we have to give up the old farm, Betsy, we have to give up the old farm, and I must find some place to go to, and something to do. We must live, Betsy,—we—must—live,—and I must find something to do, to live. I hope to be able to find work, and have you to come to where I am before long.

“I surely can find something to do some place. I heerd Jonas Warner, that rich man in town, tell a feller the other day that anybody could find work that wanted to work. God knows, Betsy, I want to work, and if Mr. Warner is right, I surely can find somebody willin to give me something to do.”

We dident sleep much that nite. Jobe wanted to ketch the five o’clock train on the C., L. & W. Railroad, and was afraid of oversleepin hisself. He had to git up airly so as to git to town in time to ketch it.

That mornin I had his clothes done up in a neat bundle. I had washed and ironed all his clothes the day before, so he would have enough to do him till I could go to him.

He dident eat much breakfast. He said he “dident feel hungry.” When he got ready to start he come up to the winder where I was a standin, and, seem that I was choked up, my eyes full of tears, he drawed me over in his arms and kissed me; then, turnin, walked out of the door without sayin a word. The moon was a shinin bright, and I stood a lookin at him as far as I could see him. He was wipin his eyes and blowin his nose as he went towards town.

When he was gone from my view I still stood a lookin for some time, then sot down and cried, and kept a cryin every little bit all mornin. Everything seemed so lonesome like. Wherever I looked it seemed I could see poor Jobe a standin there lookin sad like.

He said he would rite as soon as he found work. I am lookin for a letter every day.

Poor Jobe! Little did he think, or me either, some thirty-six years ago, that in our old age we would be turned from our home by the law of our country. Little did we think that when we got old Jobe would have to go hundreds of miles from home, and out among strangers, a beggin for work to feed us by.

Jist to think of all the interest money and payments we have give Congressman Richer—some $3,800 all told. If interest had been less we would have had our home, and had it nearly paid for, and Jobe would not be gone out into the world to hunt work. If we had half or a quarter of that interest money we could buy us a little home to stay in the few remainin years of our lives.

But, then, interest must be kept up, and the law inforced, so as to enable Mr. Richer and his likes to live in style and assert the dignity of their citizenship. It has to be done, no matter if the hardworkin poor people are turned out of their homes and those that love each other are parted.

If Jesus was here and a makin laws, I wonder if he would have interest, and foreclosin, and turnin out, and all that?