home till she died--it was only a sentence, yet the
quiet pathos of it bared to him the tragedy of that mother's exile.

"Never a great city, daughter," he advised. "Stay here, menaced by
Indians, among rough men and women, with storms and toil besetting you,
but never go to a great city. It is close and dirty and paved, and in
it no man may fill his lungs with pure air, or touch his feet to God's
green earth."

"In cities," questioned Dallas, but in a low tone, as if she wished no
one to overhear; "in cities, do--do the women dress like me?" She raised
herself a little, though without disturbing Marylyn, so that he might
see her plain, collarless waist and straight, scant skirt.

He gave her a smile--a smile as rare and transforming as her own. She
had allowed him a glimpse of her suppressed girlishness. "Would that
they did, my daughter," he answered.

"I mean in cities like--like--Bismarck," she said, a trifle consciously.

"Perhaps--some--eh--let me see." He was perplexed. He saw the eager
light in her face; saw that, for some reason, she was striving to
compare herself with the women of the settled districts--and to learn
from him the very things she had feared might bring dissatisfaction with
her life. He did not wish to teach discontent. He would not tell an
untruth. So he created a diversion by taking up his ulster and searching
in a capacious pocket.

"But they--they--don't plow."

David Bond brought forth a limp and battered Bible. "No," he said; "no,
they--they don't plow."

"Ah!" She looked into the fire. Of a sudden, two memories had
returned--one, of the passing musicians, with their nudging and insolent
smirks; the other, of a man who had leaned back in his saddle and
laughed--after all, perhaps, _not_ at her name.

"I--I suppose they're more like Marylyn," she faltered.

The evangelist adjusted his silver-bowed spectacles and smiled down at
her. "And if they are, would it worry you, daughter?"

She shook her head slowly, and looked away.

He turned his back, so that both lantern-and firelight could reach his
pages, and, opening the Book at random, began to read. The chapter done,
he turned round and glanced at her again. Her face was still averted.

He rose to retire. She put Marylyn gently aside and rose with him.

Then, and not till then, did Dallas think of their dilemma of the
morning. The evangelist's coming and their talk together had caused her
entirely to forget about the trip to