il was usually empty on the Saturday night, and the
churches were full on Sunday, as is the normal condition of Middle West
towns in a prohibition state.

"The wind is in the east. It will rain to-morrow," York said, after a
pause. "I had planned to go to the upper Sage Brush country for a
couple of days. I'll wait till after Sunday now."

Laura Macpherson did not know whether the last meant relief or anxiety.
York was not readable to-night.

"What are you staring at?" York asked, presently, from his
vine-sheltered angle, as he saw his sister looking intently down into
the street.

"Humans," Laura replied, composedly.

"Not the Big Dipper, I hope. Isn't the town big enough without her
ranging all over 'Kingussie'?"

"Oh, York, you will call Mrs. Bahrr 'the Big Dipper' to her face some
day, if you don't quit your private practice," Laura declared.

"Well, her name is Stella Bahrr. 'Stellar,' she calls it, and she
pronounces her surname just plain 'Bear.' If that isn't starry enough I
don't know my astronomy. And she is always dipping into other folks's
business and stirring up trouble with a high hand. Laura, once and for
all, never tie up with that little old hat-trimmer. She'll trim you if
you do."

"Don't be uneasy about our getting chummy. I'm positively rude to her
most of the time. She isn't coming here. She has veered off toward the
Lenwells'. But look who is coming, York."

York shifted his chair into line with the street.

"It's the fair Philadelphian and her pompous gentleman in waiting," York
declared.

"Look at little Brother Ponk strut, would you? 'A charge to keep I
have.' But, York, Miss Swaim appears a bit too Philadelphian for our New
Eden scenery!" Laura exclaimed.

"She is a type all her own, I would say. Jim Swaim's determined chin and
Lesa's dreamy eyes. She will be an interesting study, at least. I wonder
which parent will win in her final development," York replied, as the
two approached the house.

"I have brought the young lady to call on you," Mr. Ponk said,
presenting his companion with a flourish, as if she were a trophy cup or
a statue just unveiled. "Sorry I can't stay to visit with you, but my
clerk is out to-night. They'll take care of you beautiful, Miss Swaim.
No, thank you, no. I'll just soar back to the hotel."

He waved off the seat York had proffered him, and bowed himself away as
gracefully as a short, round man can bow.

Laura Macpherson had an inborn gift of ho