ondered in what direction
it would influence it. He knew well enough, no one better, how much
damage love could do. He knew well enough the other, and right side of
the picture. But Buck was an unusual experiment. Even to him, who knew
the boy so well, he was still something of a problem in many ways. One
thing was certain. He would get the trouble badly, and time alone
could show what ravages and complications might be forthcoming.

He rose from his chair and knocked out his pipe. Then, in smiling
dismay, he sniffed the air. He had done the very thing he had meant to
avoid. He shook his white head, and opened wide both the window and
the door in the hope that the fresh mountain air would sweeten the
atmosphere before the girl's arrival.

But his hopes were quickly dashed. As he took up his position in the
doorway, prepared to extend her the heartiest greeting, he heard the
clatter of hoofs on the trail, and the man and the girl rode into the
stockade.

Buck had departed to perform his usual evening tasks. He had gone to
water and feed the horses, to "buck" cord-wood for the stove, and to
draw the water for their household purposes. He was full early with
his work, but he was anxious that the Padre and Joan should remain
undisturbed. Such was his faith in the Padre that he felt that on this
visit depended much of the girl's future peace of mind.

Now the white-haired man and the girl were alone--alone with the ruddy
westering sun pouring in through window and door, in an almost
horizontal shaft of gracious light. Joan was sitting bending over the
cook-stove, her feet resting on the rack at the foot of the oven, her
hands outstretched to the warming glow of the fire. The evenings in
the hills, even in the height of summer, were never without a nip of
cold which drifted down from the dour, ages-old glaciers crowning the
distant peaks. She was talking, gazing into the glowing coals. She was
piecing out her story as it had been told her by her Aunt Mercy,
feeling that only with a full knowledge of it could this wise old
white-haired friend of Buck's understand and help her.

The Padre was sitting close under the window. His back was turned to
it, so that his face was almost lost in the shadow. And it was as
well. As the story proceeded, as incident after incident was unfolded,
the man's face became gray with unspeakable emotion, and from robust
middle age he jumped to an old, old man.

But Joan saw none of this. Neve