The police officer, by virtue of his knowledge of the valley, led the
way. Nor was he altogether sorry to do so. He felt that the moment for
answering questions had passed. Any form of cross-examination now
might lead him into imparting information that might hurt this
stranger, and he had no desire to be the one to cast a shadow upon his
introduction to the country he intended to make his home.

However, beyond this first expression of delight, Bill Bryant made no
further attempt at speech. Once more doubt had settled upon his mind,
and he was thinking--hard.

Ten minutes later the village came into view. Then it was that Bill
was abruptly aroused from his somewhat troubled thought. They were
just approaching the site of the new church, and sounds of activity
broke the sylvan peace of the valley. But these things were of a
lesser interest. A pedestrian, evidently leaving the neighborhood of
the new building, was coming toward them along the trail. It was a
girl--a girl clad in a smart tailored costume, which caught and held
the stranger's most ardent attention.

She came on, and as they drew abreast of her, just for one brief
instant the girl's smiling gray eyes were raised to the face of the
stranger. The smile was probably unconscious, but it was nevertheless
pronounced. In a moment, off came Bill's hat in a respectful salute,
and only by the greatest effort could he refrain from a verbal
greeting. Then, in another moment, as she passed like a ray of April
sun, he had drawn up beside his guide.

"Say," he cried, with a deep breath of enthusiasm, "did you get that
pretty girl?" Then with a burst of impetuosity: "Are they all like
that in--this place? If so, I'm surely up to my neck in the valley of
Leaping Creek. Who is she? How did she get here? I'll bet a thousand
dollars to a bad nickel this place didn't raise her."

The officer's reply to the volley of questions came with
characteristic directness.

"That's Miss Seton, Miss Helen Seton, sister of the one they
call--Kate. They're sort of farmers, in a small way. Been here five
years."

"Farmers?" Bill's scorn was tremendous. "Why, that girl might have
stepped off Broadway, New York, yesterday. Farmers!"

"Nevertheless they _are_ farmers," replied Fyles, "and they've been
farming here five years."

"Five years! They've been here five years, and that girl--with her
pretty face and dandy eyes--not married? Say, the boys of this place
need seeing to. The