her pinned Kyle down, and he stuttered out the truth. I
tried to get the horse-doctor to charge the two hundred into his bill
and when father uncovered that--I couldn't wait any longer so I've sold
the colt!"

"Well, Morty, what for in Heaven's name?" asked Laura. Morty began
fumbling in his pockets before he spoke. He did not smile, but as his
hand came out of an inside pocket, he said gently: "For two hundred and
seventeen dollars and a half! I fought an hour for that half dollar!" He
handed it to the Doctor, saying: "It's for the kindergarten. You keep it
for her, Doctor Jim!"

When Morty had gone Mrs. Nesbit said: "What queer blood that Sands blood
is, Doctor. There is Mary Sands's heart in that boy, and Daniel has bred
nothing into him. They must have been a queer breed a generation or two
back!"

The Doctor did not answer. He took the money which Morty had given to
him, handed it to Laura and said: "And now my dear, accept this token of
devotion from Sir Mortimer Sands, of the golden heart and wooden head!"
And then Laura laughed, not in derision, not in merriment even, but in
sheer joy that life could mean so much. And as she laughed the temple
not made with hands began to rise strong and beautiful in her heart and
in the hearts of all who touched her.

How they would have sneered at Laura Van Dorn's niche in the temple,
those practical folk who helped her because they loved her. How George
Brotherton would have laughed; with what suspicion John Kollander would
have viewed the kindergarten, if he had been told that it was part of a
temple. For he had no sort of an idea of letting the rag-tag and
bob-tail of South Harvey into a temple; he knew very well they deserved
no temple. They were shiftless and wicked. How Wright & Perry would have
sniffed at any one who would have called the dreary little shack, where
Laura Van Dorn held forth, a temple. For they all pretended to see only
the earthly dimensions of material things. But in their hearts they knew
the truth. It is the American way to mask the beauty of our nobler
selves, or real selves under a gibing deprecation. So we wear the veneer
of materialism, and beneath it we are intense idealists. And woe to him
who reckons to the contrary!

Perhaps the town's views on temples in general and Laura's temple in
particular, was summed up by Hildy Herdicker, Prop., when she read Mr.
Left's reflections in the _Tribune_. "Temples--eh?--temples not
made with hands--is