ion. Ah, to be a missionary with a tongue of fire, with a message of
light! A missionary to my people to help them to high and worthy living,
to help them to God! ONLY a missionary! What would you have me? A
money-maker?"

He turned swiftly upon her, a magnetic, compelling personality. From the
furious scorn in his voice and in his flaming face she visibly shrank,
almost as if he had struck her.

"No!" she breathed. "Nothing else. Only a missionary."

Silent she stood, as if still under the spell of his words, her eyes
devouring his face.

"How your mother would have loved you, would have been proud of you,"
she said in a low tone. "Is--is there no one else to--to rejoice in
you?" she asked shyly, but eagerly.

He laughed aloud. "There's dad, dear old dad."

"And no one else?" Still with shy, eager eyes she held him.

"Oh, heaps," he cried, still laughing.

She smiled upon him, a slightly uncertain smile, and yet as if his
answer somehow satisfied her.

"Good-bye," she said impulsively, offering her hand.

"But you are not going! You're staying a few days!" he gasped.

"No, we're going. We're going right away. Goodbye," she said. "I don't
want those others to see. Goodbye. Oh, it's been a wonderful morning!
And,--and--a friend is a wonderful discovery."

Her hand held his in a strong, warm grasp, but her eyes searched his
face as if seeking something she greatly desired.

"Good-bye. I am sorry you are going," he said, simply. "I want to know
you better."

"Do you?" she cried, with a sudden eagerness in her voice and manner.
Then, "No. You would be disappointed. I am not of your world. But you
shall see me again," she added, as if taking a new resolve. "We are
coming back on a big hunt, and you and your father are to join us. Won't
you?"

"Dad said we should," said the youth, smiling at the remembrance.

"And you?" she said, with a touch of impatience.

"If things can so arrange themselves--my work, I mean, and dad's."

"But, do you want to? Do you really want to?" she asked. "I wish I knew.
I hate not to understand people. You are hard to know. I don't know you.
But you will come?"

"I think so," said the young man. "Of course a fellow's work comes
first, you know."

"Work?" she cried. "Your work? Oh, your missionary work. Oh, yes, yes. I
should like to see you at it. Come, let us go."

Mr. Cornwall Brand they found in a fever of impatience. He had the
trip scheduled to a time table, and he ha