into coquettish shapes, singing as she did
so, when she heard a quick footstep on the gravel. She drew aside the
fluttering curtain and looked out. A stranger was at the doorstep--was
coming through the hall--was actually opening the parlor door as she
rose from her chair with the ribbons in her hand. He did not wait for
her to speak. He took her in his arms, and said:

"Oh, Yanna! Yanna! Where is father?"

Then she knew him. "Antony! My brother Antony!" she cried. "Oh, how
glad I am to see you! Oh, how glad father will be to see you! Come,
let us go to him. He is in the garden."

This unexpected visit threw the Van Hoosen household into a state of
the most joyful excitement; for around this youngest of his sons,
Peter had woven all the poetry that is sure to be somewhere hidden in
a truly pious heart. He was very proud of Antony, for he had
accomplished the precise thing which would have been impossible to
Peter. Antony's life had been one of constant peril, and his father
was accustomed to think of him as heavily armed, and fleetly mounted,
and riding for his life. The glamour of western skies, the romance and
mystery of the Great Plains, the hand to hand bravery of defending
forts from Indians--these, and many other daring elements, had woven
themselves about the young man's struggle for wealth, and invested him
with an unusual interest.

So unusual that Peter thought it no sin, on this "eve of the Sabbath,"
to break his general custom of private meditation, and listen to the
tale of life his son had to tell him. For it was full of strange
providences, and Peter was not slow to point them out. And though
Antony was reticent on spiritual experiences that were purely
personal, his father understood that in those vast lonely places he
had heard _a Voice_, that never again leaves the heart that hears it.

There was a fine sincerity, a sincerity like that of light, in
Antony's nature; his moral sense was definite, his words were
truthful; he was another Peter Van Hoosen transplanted into larger
atmospheres, and nourished in tropical warmth. Speaking physically,
he was not handsome; speaking morally, he was very attractive. His
fine soul erected his long spare form, gave the head its confident
poise, made the face luminous, and the step firm and elastic. It was
like breathing in a high atmosphere to be with him; for he shared
himself with his fellows, and poured his life freely into other lives.
Was it, then, any won