ter a bit," she exclaimed. "I must get used to being
'mussed-up.' You see, I'm a farmer--now."

The other's concern promptly vanished. He loved to hear her laugh.

"You never farmed any?" he asked.

"Never." Joan shook her head in mock seriousness. "Isn't it desperate
of me? No, I'm straight from a city."

Buck withdrew his gaze from her face and glanced out at the hills. But
it was only for a moment. His eyes came back as though drawn by a
magnet.

"Guess you'll likely find it dull here--after a city," he said at
last. "Y' see, it's a heap quiet. It ain't quiet to me, but then I've
never been to a city--unless you call Leeson Butte a city. Some folks
feel lonesome among these big hills."

"I don't think I shall feel lonesome," Joan said quickly. "The peace
and quiet of this big world is all I ask. I left the city to get away
from--oh, from the bustle of it all! Yes, I want the rest and quiet of
these hills more than anything else in the world."

The passionate longing in her words left Buck wondering. But he nodded
sympathetically.

"I'd say you'd get it right here," he declared. Then he turned toward
the great hills, and a subtle change seemed to come over his whole
manner. His dark eyes wore a deep, far-away look in which shone a
wonderfully tender affection. It was the face of a man who, perhaps
for the first time, realizes the extent and depth of his love for the
homeland which is his.

"It's big--big," he went on, half to himself. "It's so big it
sometimes makes me wonder. Look at 'em," he cried, pointing out at the
purpling distance, "rising step after step till it don't seem they can
ever git bigger. An' between each step there's a sort of world
different from any other. Each one's hidden all up, so pryin' eyes
can't see into 'em. There's life in those worlds, all sorts of life.
An' it's jest fightin', lovin', dyin', eatin', sleepin', same as
everywhere else. There's a big story in 'em somewhere--a great big
story. An' it's all about the game of life goin' on in there, jest the
same as it does here, an' anywher'. Yes, it's a big story and hard to
read for most of us. Guess we don't ever finish readin' it,
anyway--until we die. Don't guess they intended us to. Don't guess it
would be good for us to read it easy."

He turned slowly from the scene that meant so much to him, and smiled
into Joan's astonished eyes.

"An' you're goin' to git busy--readin' that story?" he asked.

The startled girl found