which the men moved to get ready for "church." Her quick
brain turned over the possibility of what she could read or say to help
this strange congregation thus suddenly thrust upon her.

It was a testimony to her upbringing by a father whose great business of
life was to preach the gospel that she never thought once of hesitating
or declining the opportunity, but welcomed it as an opportunity, and
only deprecated her unreadiness for the work.

The men stirred about, donned their coats, furtively brushing their
hair, and Long Bill insisted that Mom Wallis put on her new bonnet;
which she obligingly did, and sat down carefully in the barrel-chair,
her hands neatly crossed in her lap, supremely happy. It really was
wonderful what a difference that bonnet made in Mom Wallis.

Gardley arranged a comfortable seat for Margaret at the table and put in
front of her one of the hymn-books she had brought. Then, after she was
seated, he took the chair beside her and brought out the little
Testament from his breast-pocket, gravely laying it on the hymn-book.

Margaret met his eyes with a look of quick appreciation. It was
wonderful the way these two were growing to understand each other. It
gave the girl a thrill of wonder and delight to have him do this simple
little thing for her, and the smile that passed between them was
beautiful to see. Long Bill turned away his head and looked out of the
window with an improvised sneeze to excuse the sudden mist that came
into his eyes.

Margaret chose "My Faith looks up to Thee" for the first hymn, because
Fiddling Boss could play it, and while he was tuning up his fiddle she
hastily wrote out two more copies of the words. And so the queer service
started with a quaver of the old fiddle and the clear, sweet voices of
Margaret and Gardley leading off, while the men growled on their way
behind, and Mom Wallis, in her new gray bonnet, with her hair all
fluffed softly gray under it, sat with eyes shining like a girl's.

So absorbed in the song were they all that they failed to hear the sound
of a horse coming into the clearing. But just as the last words of the
final verse died away the door of the bunk-house swung open, and there
in the doorway stood Pop Wallis!

The men sprang to their feet with one accord, ominous frowns on their
brows, and poor old Mom Wallis sat petrified where she was, the smile of
relaxation frozen on her face, a look of fear growing in her tired old
eyes.

Now