he moaning pine forest of Wisconsin,
or the equally lonely cabin on the Kansas plain.

When the curtain fell, they rose and went sombrely out. When they
reached the street, Ida pressed Bradley's arm.

"Oh, it was beautiful, _painfully_ beautiful! Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes," replied Bradley simply.

"O Bradley! if we only could discover a land like that, to which all
the poor could go at once and be happy--a land of song and plenty, with
no greed and no grinding need!"

"Yes," Bradley sighed, "But I am afraid you and I will never again
taste anything sweet. There will always be a dash of bitter in it."

"Yes, we were born to feel others' cares. The worst of it is, we could
have that land in America if we only would. Our forefathers thought it
was coming, but instead of it"--She did not finish, and they walked on
in deep thought.

"Yes," said Bradley, "we could have it; but the way is long and weary,
and thousands and millions of us must die on the road, I am afraid."

As they walked on, Bradley could hear the occasional deep-sighing
breath of the heart-burdened woman beside him. Again they passed by the
cold and stately palace of the Government, lifting its dome against the
glittering sky. The moon had swung high into the air, giving a whiter
tinge to the blue, and dimming the brilliancy of the stars, but the
crusted snow sparkled like a cloth of diamonds, and each flake-burdened
branch took on unearthly charm. It was very still and peaceful and
remote, as if no city were near. They stood in silence until Ida
shivered with cold; then without a word Bradley touched her arm, and
they walked on.

When they entered their room, Ida sat down in a chair by the fire
without removing her things; and when Bradley came in from the hall she
still sat there, her eyes shaded by her hat, her chin resting on her
palm, her gloves in her lap. He knew her too well to interrupt her, and
took a seat near her, waiting for her to speak.

At last she turned abruptly, and said, "Bradley, I'm going home."

It made him catch his breath. "Oh, no, I can't let you do that, Ida."

"Yes, I must go; I can't stay here. That play to-night has wakened my
sleeping conscience. I must go back to the West."

"But, Ida, you've only been here four weeks; I don't see why"--

"Because my work calls me. I am cursed. I can't enjoy this life any
more, because I can't forget those poor souls on the lonely farms
grinding out their lives in gloomy