Rockport; and rich men's homes and all that gabble they was desecratin'
the Sabbath with at supper last night--" O'mie broke off and took the
girl's trembling hand in his. "Oh! I can look after that rascal's good
name, but I don't dare to fix things up for you two, no matter what I
know." So ran his thoughts.

The rain blew in a bitter gust as he opened the door. "Good-night,
Marjie. It's an ugly night. Any old waterproof cloak to lend me,
girlie?" he asked, but Marjie did not smile. She held the light as in
the olden time she had shown us the dripping path, and watched the
little Irishman trotting away in the darkness.

The Indian summer of 1868 in Kansas was as short as it was glorious. The
next day was gorgeous after the rain, and the warm sunshine and light
breeze drove all the dampness and chill away. In the middle of the
afternoon Judson left the store to O'mie and went up to Mrs. Whately's
for an important business conference. These conferences were growing
frequent now, and dear Mrs. Whately's usually serene face wore a deeply
anxious look after each one. Marjie had no place in them. It was not a
part of Judson's plan to have her understand the business.

Fortune favored O'mie's inquisition scheme. Judson had hardly left the
store when Lettie Conlow walked in. Evidently Judson's company on the
Sunday evening before had given her a purpose in coming. In our play as
children Lettie was the first to "get mad and call names." In her young
womanhood she was vindictive and passionate.

"Good-afternoon, Lettie. Nice day after the rain," O'mie said,
pleasantly.

She did not respond to his greeting, but stood before him with flashing
eyes. She had often been called pretty, and her type is always
considered handsome, for her coloring was brilliant, and her form
attractive. This year she was the best dressed girl in town, although
her father was not especially prosperous. Whether transplanting in a
finer soil with higher culture might have changed her I cannot say, for
the Conlow breed ran low and the stamp of the common grade was on
Lettie. I've seen the same on a millionaire's wife; so it is in the
blood, and not in the rank. No other girl in town broke the law as
Lettie did, and kept her good name, but we had always known her. The
boys befriended her more than the girls did, partly because we knew more
of her escapades, and partly because she would sometimes listen to us. A
pretty, dashing, wilful, untutored, and i