ians were sparing of words,
according to their wont. They rode together ahead of Dick; but
sometimes Peter fell back and opened a brief conversation. "To-morrow
we begin to see woods again," he said once, "prairie soon break up,
end. Then come trees, rivers, lakes. Now we see whole sky; then only
little bits above leaves. Now we see who comes, miles an' miles away,
then we see only grass, leaves, shadows, an' know less." But Dick
welcomed the thought that the prairies would soon end.

His dreams had led him astray. He fully realised that now. But it was
not in him to think of the long woodland journey that lay before them
with anything but keen and somewhat wistful pleasure. The prairies
were not attractive to him. They were too vast, too monotonous, too
remote from the little hopes and cares of human life. But the forests
were different, and he was full of longing to behold them once more in
all the beauty of the early year. Yet other longings were now
stronger; and every night he counted that he was so much nearer to
Stephanie. At last the prairies were behind them, and he and Peter
were alone and on foot once more. It had been autumn when they passed
through this country on their northward way, and now, looking back,
Dick could scarcely believe that in a few months such changes could
have taken place in all his hopes and aims and feelings.

There were changes also in his appearance. Severe illness and
long-continued hardship had made him taller and thinner and older. He
bore himself with less light-hearted confidence, and seemed to expect
less consideration. Instead of being a careless boy to be guided and
excused, he now gave greater promise of becoming a good man to be
relied upon and trusted. The trials of that winter had been excellent
moral medicine for his selfishness, and the nearness of danger and
death had led him to realise something, however dimly, of his
unavoidable duty to his friends, his sister, and above all, to his God.

Through all the splendour of the northern spring they went steadily
southward. Not this time was Dick lost in a lazy dream of delight,
though he loved the great woods more intensely than ever. The free
skies were as fair to him, the winds still sang their little
gipsy-songs to his heart, the green solitudes were as welcome to him as
ever, but he held to his purpose firmly. And the days passed from
clear dawns to tender twilight, and every day left him so much n