ure and every lineament of his boyish hero, made it possible for him
to understand how deeply Mary had been moved when brought face to face
with a handsome and powerful man who loved as lions love. He handed the
letter back with a smile: "I think you'd better stay over and see her."

"I intend to," replied Harold; "wire father to come up."

"Let's go walk. We may happen by the church where she sings," suggested
Jack.

It was a very beautiful hour of the day. The west was filled with cool,
purple-gray clouds, and a fresh wind had swept away all memory of the
heat of the day. Insects filled the air with quavering song. Children
were romping on the lawns. Lovers sauntered by in pairs or swung under
the trees in hammocks. Old people sat reading or listlessly talking
beside their cottage doors. A few carriages were astir. It was a day of
rest and peace and love-making to this busy little community. The mills
were still and even the water seemed to run less swiftly, only the
fishes below the dam had cause to regret the day's release from toil,
for on every rock a fisherman was poised.

The tension being a little relieved, Harold was able to listen to Jack's
news of Rock River. His father was still preaching in the First Church,
but several influential men had split off and were actively antagonizing
the majority of the congregation. The fight was at its bitterest. Maud
had now three children, and her husband was doing well in hardware. This
old schoolmate was married, that one was dead, many had moved West.
Bradley Talcott was running for State Legislator. Radbourn was in
Washington.

Talking on quietly the two young men walked out of the village into a
lane bordered with Lombardy poplars. Harold threw himself down on the
grass beneath them and said:

"Now I can imagine I am back on the old farm. Tell me all about your
folks."

"Oh, they're just the same. They don't change much. Father scraped some
money together and built a new bedroom on the west side. Mother calls it
'the boys' room.' By 'boys' they mean you and me. They expect us to
sleep there when you come back on a visit. They'll be terribly
disappointed at not seeing you. Mother seems to think as much of you as
she does of me."

There was charm in the thought of the Burns' farm and Mrs. Burns coming
and going about the big kitchen stove, the smell of wholesome cooking
about her clothing, and for the moment the desperado's brain became as a
child's. There was