the cow towns, or the thin, hard-worked, and poorly-dressed
wives and daughters of the ranchers, he humbled himself before the
beauty and dignity and refinement of this young singer.

She was a mature woman, full-bosomed, grave of feature, introspective of
glance. Her graceful hat, her daintily gloved hands, her tasteful dress,
impressed the cowboy with a feeling that all art and poetry and
refinement were represented by her. For the moment his own serenity and
self-command were shaken. He cowered in his seat like a dust-covered
plowman in a parlor, and when Mary looked in his direction his breath
quickened and he shrank. He was not yet ready to have her recognize him.

The preacher, a handsome and scholarly young fellow, arose to speak, and
Harold was interested in him at once. The service had nothing of the
old-time chant or drawl or drone. In calm, unhesitating speech the young
man proceeded, from a text of Hebrew scripture, to argue points of right
and wrong among men, and to urge upon his congregation right thinking
and right action. He used a great many of the technical phrases of
carpenters and stonemasons and sailors. He showed familiarity also with
the phrases of the cattle country. Several times a low laugh rippled
over his congregation as he uttered some peculiarly apt phrase or made
use of some witty illustration. To the cowboy this sort of preaching
came with surprise. He thought: "The boys would kieto to this chap all
right." He was not eager to have them listen to Mary singing.

Sitting there amid the little audience of thoughtful people, his brain
filled with new conceptions of the world and of human life. Nothing was
clearly defined in the tumult of opposing pictures. At one moment he
thought of his sister and his family, but before he could imagine her
home or decide on how to see her, a picture of his father, or Jack, or
the peaceful Burns' farm came whirling like another cloud before his
brain, and all the time his eyes searched Mary's calm and beautiful
face. He saw her smile, too, when the preacher made a telling
application of a story. How would she receive him after so many years?
She had not answered his last letter; perhaps she was married. Again the
chilly wind from the canon of doubt blew upon him. If she was, why that
ended it. He would go back to the mountains and never return.

The minister finished at last and Mary arose again to sing. She was
taller, Harold perceived, and more matronly