e?"

"I got exemption for him, that's what," replied Anderson, with great
satisfaction.

"Exemption!" exclaimed Lenore, in bewilderment.

"Don't you remember the government official from Washington? You met him
in Spokane. He was out West to inspire the farmers to raise more wheat.
There are many young farmers needed a thousand times more on the
wheat-fields than on the battle-fields. An' Kurt Dorn is one of them.
That boy will make the biggest sower of wheat in the Northwest. I
recommended exemption for Dorn. An' he's exempted an' doesn't know it."

"Doesn't know! He'll _never_ accept exemption," declared Lenore.

"Lass, I'm some worried myself," rejoined Anderson. "Reckon you've
explained Dorn to me--that somethin' queer about him.... But he's
sensible. He can be told things. An' he'll see how much more he's needed
to raise wheat than to kill Germans."

"But, father--suppose he _wants_ to kill Germans?" asked Lenore,
earnestly. How strangely she felt things about Dorn that she could not
explain.

"Then, by George! it's up to you, my girl," replied her father, grimly.
"Understand me. I've no sentiment about Dorn in this matter. One good
wheat-raiser is worth a dozen soldiers. To win the war--to feed our
country after the war--why, only a man like me knows what it 'll take!
It means millions of bushels of wheat!... I've sent my own boy. He'll
fight with the best or the worst of them. But he'd never been a man to
raise wheat. All Jim ever raised is hell. An' his kind is needed now. So
let him go to war. But Dorn must be kept home. An' that's up to Lenore
Anderson."

"Me!... Oh--how?" cried Lenore, faintly.

"Woman's wiles, daughter," said Anderson, with his frank laugh. "When
Dorn comes let me try to show him his duty. The Northwest can't spare
young men like him. He'll see that. If he has lost his wheat he'll come
down here to make me take the land in payment of the debt. I'll accept
it. Then he'll say he's goin' to war, an' then I'll say he ain't....
We'll have it out. I'll offer him such a chance here an' in the Bend
that he'd have to be crazy to refuse. But if he has got a twist in his
mind--if he thinks he's got to go out an' kill Germans--then you'll have
to change him."

"But, dad, how on earth can I do that?" implored Lenore, distracted
between hope and joy and fear.

"You're a woman now. An' women are in this war up to their eyes. You'll
be doin' more to keep him home than if you let him go. He's m