the schools of man can give. She knew the one great truth
of her womanhood; knew it not from text book or class room; not from
learned professor or cultured associates; but knew it from that good
Master of Life who, with infinite wisdom, teaches his many pupils who
are free to learn in the school of schools, the School of Nature. In
that hour when the near presence of death so overshadowed all the
trivial and non-essential things of life--when the little standards and
petty values of poor human endeavor were as nothing--this woman knew
that by the unwritten edict of God, who decreed that in all life two
should be as one, this man was her only lawful mate. Environment,
circumstance, that which we call culture and education, even death,
might separate them; but nothing could nullify the fact that was
attested by the instinct of her womanhood. Bending over the man who lay
so still, she whispered the imperative will of her heart.

"Come back to me, Phil--I want you--I need you, dear--come back to me!"

Slowly he came out of the mists of weakness and pain to look up at
her--doubtfully--wonderingly. But there was a light in Kitty's face that
dispelled the doubt, and changed the look of wondering uncertainty to
glad conviction. He did not speak. No word was necessary. Nor did he
move, for he must be very still, and hold fast with all his strength to
the life that was now so good. But the woman knew without words all that
he would have said, and as his eyes closed again she bowed her head in
thankfulness.

Then rising she stole softly to the window. She felt that she must look
out for a moment into the world that was so suddenly new and beautiful.

Under the walnut trees she saw the Dean talking with the man whom she
had promised to marry.

Later Mr. Reid, with Helen and Curly, brought the doctor, and the noise
of the automobile summoned every soul on the place to wait for the
physician's verdict of life or death.

While the Dean was in Phil's room with the physician, and the anxious
ones were gathered in a little group in front of the house, Jim Reid
stood apart from the others talking in low tones with the cowboy Bob.
Patches, who was standing behind the automobile, heard Bob, who had
raised his voice a little, say distinctly, "I tell you, sir, there ain't
a bit of doubt in the world about it. There was the calf a layin' right
there fresh-branded and marked. He'd plumb forgot to turn it loose, I
reckon, bein' naturally