s of the teamsters, bantering one
another, struck cheerfully on his ears. Side-track and little station
were bathed in dazzling electric glare, two locomotives were pushing in
wheat cars, and lights had begun to glimmer in the wooden houses of the
Butte, though all round there was the vast sweep of prairie.

There was a touch of rawness in the picture, a hint of incompleteness,
with a promise of much to come. Sage Butte was, perhaps, a trifle
barbarous; but its crude frame buildings would some day give place to
more imposing piles of concrete and steel. Its inhabitants were
passing through a transition stage, showing signs at times of the
primitive strain, but, as a rule, reaching out eagerly toward what was
new and better. They would make swift progress, and even now he liked
the strenuous, optimistic, and somewhat rugged life they led; he
reflected that he would find things different in sheltered England.

After giving Grierson a few instructions, George turned away. His work
was done; instead of driving home through the sharp cold of the night,
he was to spend it comfortably at the hotel.

A week later, he and West drove over to the Grant homestead and found
only its owner in the general-room. Grant listened with a rather
curious expression when George told him that he was starting for
England the following day; and then they quietly talked over the
arrangements that had been made for carrying on the farm until Edgar's
return, for George's future movements were uncertain. Edgar, however,
was sensible of a constraint in the farmer's manner, which was
presently felt by George, and the conversation was languishing when
Flora came in. Shortly afterward George said that they must go and
Flora strolled toward the fence with him while the team was being
harnessed.

"So you are leaving us to-morrow and may not come back?" she said, in
an indifferent tone.

"I can't tell what I shall do until I get to England."

Flora glanced at him with a composure that cost her an effort. She
supposed his decision would turn upon Mrs. Marston's attitude, but she
knew Sylvia well, and had a suspicion that there was a disappointment
in store for Lansing. Edgar had explained that he was not rich, and he
was not the kind of man Sylvia was likely to regard with favor.

"Well," she said lightly, "when I came in, you really didn't look as
cheerful as one might have expected. Are you sorry you are going away?"

"It's a good deal