said Ichabod. "I was thinking how happy you are."

"Yes, sir." And the face reddened again.

Ichabod smiled.

"When is it to be, Ole?"

The big body wriggled in blissful embarrassment.

"As soon as the house is built,"--confusedly.

"You're building very fast, eh?"

The Swede grinned confirmation. Words were of value to Ole.

"I see the question was superfluous," and Ichabod likewise smiled in
genial comradery. A moment later, however, the smile vanished.

"You're very content as it is, Ole," he digressed, equivocally;
"but--supposing--Minna were already the wife of a friend?"

The Swede stared in breathless astonishment.

"She isn't, though" he gasped at length in startled protest.

"But supposing--"

"It would be so. I couldn't help it."

"You'd do nothing?" rank anarchy in the suggestion.

"What would there be to do?"

Ichabod temporized.

"Supposing again, she loved you, and didn't love her husband?" Ole
scratched his head, seeing very devious passages beyond. "That would
be different," and he crossed his legs.

Ichabod smiled. The world over, human nature is fashioned from one
mould.

"Supposing, once more, it's a year from now,--five years from now.
You've married Minna, but you're not happy. She's grown to hate
you,--to love another man?"

Ole's faith was beautiful.

"It's not to be thought of. It's impossible!"

"But supposing," urged Ichabod.

The boy-man was silent for a very long minute; then his face darkened,
and the soft jaw grew hard.

"I don't know--" he said slowly,--"I don't know, but I think I kill
that man."

Ichabod did not smile this time.

"We're all much alike, Ole. I think you would."

They drove on; far past the town, now; the sun high in the sky; dew
sparkling like prisms innumerable; the prairie colorings soft as a
rug--its varied greens of groundwork blending with the narrow line of
fresh breaking rolling at their feet.

"You were born in this country?" asked Ichabod suddenly.

"In Iowa. It's much like this--only rougher."

"You'll live here, always?"

The Swede shook his head and the boy's face grew older.

"No; some day, we're going to the city--Minna and I. We've planned."

Ichabod was thoughtful a minute.

"I'm a friend of yours, Ole."

"A very good friend," repeated the mystified Swede.

"Then, listen, and don't forget." The voice was vibrant, low, but the
boy heard it clearly above the noise of the wagon. "Don't do it, Ole;
in God's nam