' different come to you?" queried Anderson,
haltingly, as if words were difficult to express what he meant.

"Why, yes--I had many strange feelings."

"Jim's letter was just like he talks. But to me it said somethin' he
never meant an' didn't know.... Jim will never come back!"

"Yes, dad--I divined just that," whispered Lenore.

"Strange about that," mused Anderson, with a pull on his cigar.

And then followed a silence. Lenore felt how long ago her father had
made his sacrifice. There did not seem to be any need for more words
about Jim. But there seemed a bigness in the bond of understanding
between her and her father. A cause united them, and they were sustained
by unfaltering courage. The great thing was the divine spark in the boy
who could not have been held back. Lenore gazed out into the darkening
shadows. The night was very still, except for the hum of insects, and
the cool air felt sweet on her face. The shadows, the silence, the
sleeping atmosphere hovering over "Many Waters," seemed charged with a
quality of present sadness, of the inexplicable great world moving to
its fate.

"Lenore, you haven't been around much lately," resumed Anderson. "Sure
you're missed. An' Jake swears a lot more than usual."

"Father, you told me to stay at home," she replied.

"So I did. An' I reckon it's just as well. But when did you ever before
mind me?"

"Why, I always obey you," replied Lenore, with her low laugh.

"Ah-huh! Not so I'd notice it.... Lenore, have you seen the big clouds
of smoke driftin' over 'Many Waters' these last few days?"

"Yes. And I've smelled smoke, too.... From forest fire, is it not?"

"There's fire in some of the timber, but the wind's wrong for us to get
smoke from the foot-hills."

"Then where does the smoke come from?" queried Lenore, quickly.

"Some of the Bend wheat country's been burned over."

"Burned! You mean the wheat?"

"Sure."

"Oh! What part of the Bend?"

"I reckon it's what you called young Dorn's desert of wheat."

"Oh, what a pity!... Have you had word?"

"Nothin' but rumors yet. But I'm fearin' the worst an' I'm sorry for our
young friend."

A sharp pain shot through Lenore's breast, leaving behind an ache.

"It will ruin him!" she whispered.

"Aw no, not that bad," declared Anderson, and there was a red streak in
the dark where evidently he waved his cigar in quick, decisive action.
"It'll only be tough on him an' sort of embarrassin' for me--an' you.