ch in bushels of wheat, and richer
for the hearty farewells and the grips of horny hands. Kurt's heart was
full.

* * * * *

It was evening. Kurt had finished his supper. Already he had packed a
few things to take with him on the morrow. He went out to the front of
the house. Stars were blinking. There was a low hum of insects from the
fields. He missed the soft silken rustle of the wheat. And now it seemed
he could sit there in the quiet darkness, in that spot which had been
made sweet by Lenore Anderson's presence, and think of her, the meeting
soon to come. The feeling abiding with him then must have been
happiness, because he was not used to it. Without deserving anything, he
had asked a great deal of fate, and, lo! it had been given him. All was
well that ended well. He realized now the terrible depths of despair
into which he had allowed himself to be plunged. He had been weak,
wrong, selfish. There was something that guided events.

He needed to teach himself all this, with strong and repeated force, so
that when he went to give Lenore Anderson the opportunity to express her
gratitude, to see her sweet face again, and to meet the strange, warm
glance of her blue eyes, so mysterious and somehow mocking, he could be
a man of restraint, of pride, like any American, like any other college
man she knew. This was no time for a man to leave a girl bearing a
burden of his unsolicited love, haunted, perhaps, by a generous reproach
that she might have been a little to blame. He had told her the truth,
and so far he had been dignified. Now let him bid her good-by, leaving
no sorrow for her, and, once out of her impelling presence, let come
what might come. He could love her then; he could dare what he had never
dared; he could surrender himself to the furious, insistent sweetness of
a passion that was sheer bliss in its expression. He could imagine
kisses on the red lips that were not for him.

A husky shout from somewhere in the rear of the house diverted Kurt's
attention. He listened. It came again. His name! It seemed a strange
call from out of the troubled past that had just ended. He hurried
through the house to the kitchen. The woman stood holding a lamp,
staring at Jerry.

Jerry appeared to have sunk against the wall. His face was pallid, with
drops of sweat standing out, with distorted, quivering lower jaw. He
could not look at Kurt. He could not speak. With shaking hand he pointe