the gladdest creature afield that day. Impishly she was enjoying the
sensation she had created. It appealed to her dramatic sense and animal
enjoyment. In some subtle fashion she realized she had balked and
defeated her father--she was rather sorry about her mother--but that
could be remedied later on. There was no doubt that she had the whip hand
of Nathaniel at last, and the subconscious attitude of defiance she
always held toward her father was strengthened by the knowledge that
he was unjustly judging her.

There were many things of interest in Kenmore that only limited time
prevented Priscilla from investigating. She longed to go to the jail and
see if the people had prevailed upon old Jerry McAlpin to discharge
himself. She admired Jerry's spirit!

She wanted to call upon Mrs. Hornby and question her about Jamsie, her
last boy, who had succumbed to the lure of the States. She longed to know
the symptoms of one attacked by the lure. Then there was the White Fish
Lodge--she did so want to visit Mrs. McAdam. The annual menace of taking
Mrs. McAdams' license from her was man's talk just then, and Mrs. McAdam
was so splendid when her rights were threatened. On the village Green
she annually defended her position like a born orator. Priscilla had
heard her once and had never got over her admiration for the little, thin
woman who rallied the men to her support with frantic threats as to her
handling of their rights unless they helped her fight her battle against
a government bent upon taking the living from a "God-be-praised
widow-woman with two sons to support."

It had all been so exactly to Priscilla's dramatic taste that she with
difficulty restrained herself from calling at the White Fish.

There was a good hour to her credit when the erranding was finished and
the time needed for the home run set aside, so to the little cabin, built
beside the schoolhouse, she went with heavily loaded arms and an
astonishingly light heart.

Since the day when Anton Farwell had undertaken Priscilla's
enlightenment, asserting that he had been ordained to do so by her god,
he had had an almost supernatural influence upon her thought. For her,
he was endowed with mystery, and, with the subtle poetry of the lonely
young, she deafened her ears to any normal explanation of the man.

Reaching the cabin, she pushed gently against the door, knowing that if
it opened, Kenmore was free to enter. Farwell was in and, when Priscilla
stood