s youth, of his father and his pulpit, and brought
to his mind also the sudden recollection of one of Jack's letters,
wherein he mentioned Mary's singing in the choir. If she were at home
she would be singing yet, he argued, and set forth definitely to find
her.

To inquire was out of the question--so he started in at the largest
church with intent to make the rounds. After waiting till the choir was
about to begin the first hymn, he slipped in and took a seat near the
door, his heart beating loudly and his breath much quickened.

The interior was so familiar, it seemed for the moment to be his
father's church in Rock River. The odors, sounds, movements were quite
the same. The same deaf old men, led by determined, sturdy old women,
were going up the aisle to the front pews. The pretty girls, taking
their seats in the middle pews (where their new hats could be enjoyed by
the young men at the rear) became Dot, and Alice, and Nettie--and for
the moment the cowboy was very boyish and tender. The choir assembling
above the pulpit made him shiver with emotion. "Perhaps one of them will
be Mary and I won't know her," he said to himself. "I will know her
voice," he added.

But, as the soprano took her place, his heart ceased to pound--she was
small, and dark, and thin. He arose and slipped out to continue his
search.

They were singing as he entered the next chapel, and it required but a
moment's listening to convince himself that Mary was not there. The
third church was a small stone building of odd structure, and while he
hesitated before its door, a woman's voice took up a solo strain,
powerful, exultant, and so piercingly sweet that the plainsman shivered
as if with sudden cold. Around him the softly moving maples threw
dappling shadows on the walk. The birds in the orchards, the insects in
the grass, the clouds overhead seemed somehow involved in the poetry and
joy of that song. The wild heart of the young trailer became like that
of a child, made sweet and tender by the sovereign power of a voice.

He did not move till the clear melody sank into the harmony of the
organ, then, with bent head and limbs unwontedly infirm, he entered the
lovely little audience room. He stumbled into the first seat in the
corner, his eyes piercing the colored dusk which lay between him and the
singer. It was Mary, and it seemed to him that she had become a
princess, sitting upon a throne. Accustomed to see only the slatternly
women of