O PIONEERS!

by Willa Cather

PART I. The Wild Land

I

One January day, thirty years ago, the little town of Hanover, anchored on a windy Nebraska tableland, was trying not to be blownaway. A mist of fine snowflakes was curling and eddying about thecluster of low drab buildings huddled on the gray prairie, undera gray sky. The dwelling-houses were set about haphazard on thetough prairie sod; some of them looked as if they had been moved inovernight, and others as if they were straying off by themselves, headed straight for the open plain. None of them had any appearanceof permanence, and the howling wind blew under them as well as overthem. The main street was a deeply rutted road, now frozen hard, which ran from the squat red railway station and the grain "elevator"at the north end of the town to the lumber yard and the horse pondat the south end. On either side of this road straggled two unevenrows of wooden buildings; the general merchandise stores, the twobanks, the drug store, the feed store, the saloon, the post-office. The board sidewalks were gray with trampled snow, but at two o'clockin the afternoon the shopkeepers, having come back from dinner, were keeping well behind their frosty windows. The children wereall in school, and there was nobody abroad in the streets but afew rough-looking countrymen in coarse overcoats, with their longcaps pulled down to their noses. Some of them had brought theirwives to town, and now and then a red or a plaid shawl flashed outof one store into the shelter of another. At the hitch-bars alongthe street a few heavy work-horses, harnessed to farm wagons, shivered under their blankets. About the station everything wasquiet, for there would not be another train in until night. 

On the sidewalk in front of one of the stores sat a little Swedeboy, crying bitterly. He was about five years old. His black clothcoat was much too big for him and made him look like a little oldman. His shrunken brown flannel dress had been washed many timesand left a long stretch of stocking between the hem of his skirtand the tops of his clumsy, copper-toed shoes. His cap was pulleddown over his ears; his nose and his chubby cheeks were chapped andred with cold. He cried quietly, and the few people who hurriedby did not notice him. He was afraid to stop any one, afraid togo into the store and ask for help, so he sat wringing his longsleeves and looking up a telegraph pole beside him, whimpering, "Mykitten, oh, my kitten! Her will fweeze!" At the top of the polecrouched a shivering gray kitten, mewing faintly and clingingdesperately to the wood with her claws. The boy had been leftat the store while his sister went to the doctor's office, and inher absence a dog had chased his kitten up the pole. The littlecreature had never been so high before, and she was too frightenedto move. Her master was sunk in despair. He was a little countryboy, and this village was to him a very strange and perplexingplace, where people wore fine clothes and had hard hearts. Healways felt shy and awkward here, and wanted to hide behind thingsfor fear some one might laugh at him. Just now, he was too unhappyto care who laughed. At last he seemed to see a ray of hope: hissister was coming, and he got up and ran toward her in his heavyshoes. 

His sister was a tall, strong girl, and she walked rapidly andresolutely, as if she knew exactly where she was going and what shewas going to do next. She wore a man's long ulster (not as if itwere an affliction, but as if it were very comfortable and belongedto her; carried it like a young soldier), and a round plush cap, tied down with a thick veil. She had a serious, thoughtful face, and her clear, deep blue eyes were fixed intently on the distance, without seeming to see anything, as if she were in trouble. Shedid not notice the little boy until he pulled her by the coat. Then she stopped short and stooped down to wipe his wet face. 

"Why, Emil! I told you to stay in the store and not to come out. What is the matter with you?"

"My kitten, sister, my kitten! A man put her out, and a dog chasedher up there. " His forefinger, projecting from the sleeve of hiscoat, pointed up to the wretched little creature on the pole. 

"Oh, Emil! Didn't I tell you she'd get us into trouble of somekind, if you brought her? What made you tease me so? But there, I ought to have known better myself. " She went to the foot of thepole and held out her arms, crying, "Kitty, kitty, kitty, " but thekitten only mewed and faintly waved its tail. Alexandra turnedaway decidedly. "No, she won't come down. Somebody will have togo up after her. I saw the Linstrums' wagon in town. I'll go andsee if I can find Carl. Maybe he can do something. Only you muststop crying, or I won't go a step. Where's your comforter? Didyou leave it in the store? Never mind. Hold still, till I putthis on you. "

She unwound the brown veil from her head and tied it about histhroat. A shabby little traveling man, who was just then coming outof the store on his way to the saloon, stopped and gazed stupidlyat the shining mass of hair she bared when she took off her veil;two thick braids, pinned about her head in the German way, with afringe of reddish-yellow curls blowing out from under her cap. Hetook his cigar out of his mouth and held the wet end between thefingers of his woolen glove. "My God, girl, what a head of hair!"he exclaimed, quite innocently and foolishly. She stabbed him witha glance of Amazonian fierceness and drew in her lower lip--mostunnecessary severity. It gave the little clothing drummer such astart that he actually let his cigar fall to the sidewalk and wentoff weakly in the teeth of the wind to the saloon. His hand wasstill unsteady when he took his glass from the bartender. Hisfeeble flirtatious instincts had been crushed before, but neverso mercilessly. He felt cheap and ill-used, as if some one hadtaken advantage of him. When a drummer had been knocking about inlittle drab towns and crawling across the wintry country in dirtysmoking-cars, was he to be blamed if, when he chanced upon a finehuman creature, he suddenly wished himself more of a man?

While the little drummer was drinking to recover his nerve, Alexandrahurried to the drug store as the most likely place to find CarlLinstrum. There he was, turning over a portfolio of chromo "studies"which the druggist sold to the Hanover women who did china-painting. Alexandra explained her predicament, and the boy followed her tothe corner, where Emil still sat by the pole. 

"I'll have to go up after her, Alexandra. I think at the depotthey have some spikes I can strap on my feet. Wait a minute. " Carlthrust his hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and darted upthe street against the north wind. He was a tall boy of fifteen, slight and narrow-chested. When he came back with the spikes, Alexandra asked him what he had done with his overcoat. 

"I left it in the drug store. I couldn't climb in it, anyhow. Catch me if I fall, Emil, " he called back as he began his ascent. Alexandra watched him anxiously; the cold was bitter enough on theground. The kitten would not budge an inch. Carl had to go tothe very top of the pole, and then had some difficulty in tearingher from her hold. When he reached the ground, he handed the catto her tearful little master. "Now go into the store with her, Emil, and get warm. " He opened the door for the child. "Wait aminute, Alexandra. Why can't I drive for you as far as our place?It's getting colder every minute. Have you seen the doctor?"

"Yes. He is coming over to-morrow. But he says father can'tget better; can't get well. " The girl's lip trembled. She lookedfixedly up the bleak street as if she were gathering her strengthto face something, as if she were trying with all her might tograsp a situation which, no matter how painful, must be met anddealt with somehow. The wind flapped the skirts of her heavy coatabout her. 

Carl did not say anything, but she felt his sympathy. He, too, waslonely. He was a thin, frail boy, with brooding dark eyes, veryquiet in all his movements. There was a delicate pallor in his thinface, and his mouth was too sensitive for a boy's. The lips hadalready a little curl of bitterness and skepticism. The two friendsstood for a few moments on the windy street corner, not speakinga word, as two travelers, who have lost their way, sometimes standand admit their perplexity in silence. When Carl turned away hesaid, "I'll see to your team. " Alexandra went into the store tohave her purchases packed in the egg-boxes, and to get warm beforeshe set out on her long cold drive. 

When she looked for Emil, she found him sitting on a step of thestaircase that led up to the clothing and carpet department. Hewas playing with a little Bohemian girl, Marie Tovesky, who wastying her handkerchief over the kitten's head for a bonnet. Mariewas a stranger in the country, having come from Omaha with her motherto visit her uncle, Joe Tovesky. She was a dark child, with browncurly hair, like a brunette doll's, a coaxing little red mouth, andround, yellow-brown eyes. Every one noticed her eyes; the browniris had golden glints that made them look like gold-stone, or, insofter lights, like that Colorado mineral called tiger-eye. 

The country children thereabouts wore their dresses to theirshoe-tops, but this city child was dressed in what was then calledthe "Kate Greenaway" manner, and her red cashmere frock, gatheredfull from the yoke, came almost to the floor. This, with herpoke bonnet, gave her the look of a quaint little woman. She hada white fur tippet about her neck and made no fussy objections whenEmil fingered it admiringly. Alexandra had not the heart to takehim away from so pretty a playfellow, and she let them tease thekitten together until Joe Tovesky came in noisily and picked uphis little niece, setting her on his shoulder for every one to see. His children were all boys, and he adored this little creature. His cronies formed a circle about him, admiring and teasing thelittle girl, who took their jokes with great good nature. Theywere all delighted with her, for they seldom saw so pretty andcarefully nurtured a child. They told her that she must chooseone of them for a sweetheart, and each began pressing his suit andoffering her bribes; candy, and little pigs, and spotted calves. She looked archly into the big, brown, mustached faces, smellingof spirits and tobacco, then she ran her tiny forefinger delicatelyover Joe's bristly chin and said, "Here is my sweetheart. "

The Bohemians roared with laughter, and Marie's uncle hugged heruntil she cried, "Please don't, Uncle Joe! You hurt me. " Eachof Joe's friends gave her a bag of candy, and she kissed them allaround, though she did not like country candy very well. Perhapsthat was why she bethought herself of Emil. "Let me down, UncleJoe, " she said, "I want to give some of my candy to that nice littleboy I found. " She walked graciously over to Emil, followed by herlusty admirers, who formed a new circle and teased the little boyuntil he hid his face in his sister's skirts, and she had to scoldhim for being such a baby. 

The farm people were making preparations to start for home. Thewomen were checking over their groceries and pinning their big redshawls about their heads. The men were buying tobacco and candywith what money they had left, were showing each other new boots andgloves and blue flannel shirts. Three big Bohemians were drinkingraw alcohol, tinctured with oil of cinnamon. This was said tofortify one effectually against the cold, and they smacked theirlips after each pull at the flask. Their volubility drowned everyother noise in the place, and the overheated store sounded oftheir spirited language as it reeked of pipe smoke, damp woolens, and kerosene. 

Carl came in, wearing his overcoat and carrying a wooden box witha brass handle. "Come, " he said, "I've fed and watered your team, and the wagon is ready. " He carried Emil out and tucked him downin the straw in the wagonbox. The heat had made the little boysleepy, but he still clung to his kitten. 

"You were awful good to climb so high and get my kitten, Carl. When I get big I'll climb and get little boys' kittens for them, "he murmured drowsily. Before the horses were over the first hill, Emil and his cat were both fast asleep. 

Although it was only four o'clock, the winter day was fading. Theroad led southwest, toward the streak of pale, watery light thatglimmered in the leaden sky. The light fell upon the two sad youngfaces that were turned mutely toward it: upon the eyes of the girl, who seemed to be looking with such anguished perplexity into thefuture; upon the sombre eyes of the boy, who seemed already to belooking into the past. The little town behind them had vanished asif it had never been, had fallen behind the swell of the prairie, and the stern frozen country received them into its bosom. Thehomesteads were few and far apart; here and there a windmill gauntagainst the sky, a sod house crouching in a hollow. But the greatfact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the littlebeginnings of human society that struggled in its sombre wastes. It was from facing this vast hardness that the boy's mouth hadbecome so bitter; because he felt that men were too weak to makeany mark here, that the land wanted to be let alone, to preserveits own fierce strength, its peculiar, savage kind of beauty, itsuninterrupted mournfulness. 

The wagon jolted along over the frozen road. The two friends hadless to say to each other than usual, as if the cold had somehowpenetrated to their hearts. 

"Did Lou and Oscar go to the Blue to cut wood to-day?" Carl asked. 

"Yes. I'm almost sorry I let them go, it's turned so cold. Butmother frets if the wood gets low. " She stopped and put her handto her forehead, brushing back her hair. "I don't know what is tobecome of us, Carl, if father has to die. I don't dare to thinkabout it. I wish we could all go with him and let the grass growback over everything. "

Carl made no reply. Just ahead of them was the Norwegian graveyard, where the grass had, indeed, grown back over everything, shaggy andred, hiding even the wire fence. Carl realized that he was not avery helpful companion, but there was nothing he could say. 

"Of course, " Alexandra went on, steadying her voice a little, "theboys are strong and work hard, but we've always depended so onfather that I don't see how we can go ahead. I almost feel as ifthere were nothing to go ahead for. "

"Does your father know?"

"Yes, I think he does. He lies and counts on his fingers all day. I think he is trying to count up what he is leaving for us. It'sa comfort to him that my chickens are laying right on through thecold weather and bringing in a little money. I wish we could keephis mind off such things, but I don't have much time to be withhim now. "

"I wonder if he'd like to have me bring my magic lantern over someevening?"

Alexandra turned her face toward him. "Oh, Carl! Have you gotit?"

"Yes. It's back there in the straw. Didn't you notice the boxI was carrying? I tried it all morning in the drug-store cellar, and it worked ever so well, makes fine big pictures. "

"What are they about?"

"Oh, hunting pictures in Germany, and Robinson Crusoe and funnypictures about cannibals. I'm going to paint some slides for iton glass, out of the Hans Andersen book. "

Alexandra seemed actually cheered. There is often a good deal ofthe child left in people who have had to grow up too soon. "Dobring it over, Carl. I can hardly wait to see it, and I'm sure itwill please father. Are the pictures colored? Then I know he'lllike them. He likes the calendars I get him in town. I wish Icould get more. You must leave me here, mustn't you? It's beennice to have company. "

Carl stopped the horses and looked dubiously up at the black sky. "It's pretty dark. Of course the horses will take you home, butI think I'd better light your lantern, in case you should need it. "

He gave her the reins and climbed back into the wagon-box, wherehe crouched down and made a tent of his overcoat. After a dozentrials he succeeded in lighting the lantern, which he placed infront of Alexandra, half covering it with a blanket so that thelight would not shine in her eyes. "Now, wait until I find my box. Yes, here it is. Good-night, Alexandra. Try not to worry. " Carlsprang to the ground and ran off across the fields toward the Linstrumhomestead. "Hoo, hoo-o-o-o!" he called back as he disappeared overa ridge and dropped into a sand gully. The wind answered him likean echo, "Hoo, hoo-o-o-o-o-o!" Alexandra drove off alone. Therattle of her wagon was lost in the howling of the wind, but herlantern, held firmly between her feet, made a moving point of lightalong the highway, going deeper and deeper into the dark country. 

II

On one of the ridges of that wintry waste stood the low log housein which John Bergson was dying. The Bergson homestead was easierto find than many another, because it overlooked Norway Creek, ashallow, muddy stream that sometimes flowed, and sometimes stoodstill, at the bottom of a winding ravine with steep, shelving sidesovergrown with brush and cottonwoods and dwarf ash. This creekgave a sort of identity to the farms that bordered upon it. Of allthe bewildering things about a new country, the absence of humanlandmarks is one of the most depressing and disheartening. Thehouses on the Divide were small and were usually tucked awayin low places; you did not see them until you came directly uponthem. Most of them were built of the sod itself, and were onlythe unescapable ground in another form. The roads were but fainttracks in the grass, and the fields were scarcely noticeable. Therecord of the plow was insignificant, like the feeble scratches onstone left by prehistoric races, so indeterminate that they may, after all, be only the markings of glaciers, and not a record ofhuman strivings. 

In eleven long years John Bergson had made but little impressionupon the wild land he had come to tame. It was still a wild thingthat had its ugly moods; and no one knew when they were likely tocome, or why. Mischance hung over it. Its Genius was unfriendlyto man. The sick man was feeling this as he lay looking out ofthe window, after the doctor had left him, on the day followingAlexandra's trip to town. There it lay outside his door, the sameland, the same lead-colored miles. He knew every ridge and drawand gully between him and the horizon. To the south, his plowedfields; to the east, the sod stables, the cattle corral, thepond, --and then the grass. 

Bergson went over in his mind the things that had held him back. One winter his cattle had perished in a blizzard. The next summerone of his plow horses broke its leg in a prairiedog hole and hadto be shot. Another summer he lost his hogs from cholera, anda valuable stallion died from a rattlesnake bite. Time and againhis crops had failed. He had lost two children, boys, that camebetween Lou and Emil, and there had been the cost of sickness anddeath. Now, when he had at last struggled out of debt, he wasgoing to die himself. He was only forty-six, and had, of course, counted upon more time. 

Bergson had spent his first five years on the Divide getting intodebt, and the last six getting out. He had paid off his mortgagesand had ended pretty much where he began, with the land. He ownedexactly six hundred and forty acres of what stretched outside hisdoor; his own original homestead and timber claim, making threehundred and twenty acres, and the half-section adjoining, thehomestead of a younger brother who had given up the fight, goneback to Chicago to work in a fancy bakery and distinguish himselfin a Swedish athletic club. So far John had not attempted tocultivate the second half-section, but used it for pasture land, and one of his sons rode herd there in open weather. 

John Bergson had the Old-World belief that land, in itself, isdesirable. But this land was an enigma. It was like a horse thatno one knows how to break to harness, that runs wild and kicksthings to pieces. He had an idea that no one understood how tofarm it properly, and this he often discussed with Alexandra. Theirneighbors, certainly, knew even less about farming than he did. Many of them had never worked on a farm until they took up theirhomesteads. They had been HANDWERKERS at home; tailors, locksmiths, joiners, cigar-makers, etc. Bergson himself had worked in ashipyard. 

For weeks, John Bergson had been thinking about these things. Hisbed stood in the sitting-room, next to the kitchen. Through theday, while the baking and washing and ironing were going on, thefather lay and looked up at the roof beams that he himself hadhewn, or out at the cattle in the corral. He counted the cattleover and over. It diverted him to speculate as to how much weighteach of the steers would probably put on by spring. He often calledhis daughter in to talk to her about this. Before Alexandra wastwelve years old she had begun to be a help to him, and as she grewolder he had come to depend more and more upon her resourcefulnessand good judgment. His boys were willing enough to work, but whenhe talked with them they usually irritated him. It was Alexandrawho read the papers and followed the markets, and who learned bythe mistakes of their neighbors. It was Alexandra who could alwaystell about what it had cost to fatten each steer, and who couldguess the weight of a hog before it went on the scales closer thanJohn Bergson himself. Lou and Oscar were industrious, but he couldnever teach them to use their heads about their work. 

Alexandra, her father often said to himself, was like hergrandfather; which was his way of saying that she was intelligent. John Bergson's father had been a shipbuilder, a man of considerableforce and of some fortune. Late in life he married a second time, a Stockholm woman of questionable character, much younger than he, who goaded him into every sort of extravagance. On the shipbuilder'spart, this marriage was an infatuation, the despairing folly ofa powerful man who cannot bear to grow old. In a few years hisunprincipled wife warped the probity of a lifetime. He speculated, lost his own fortune and funds entrusted to him by poor seafaringmen, and died disgraced, leaving his children nothing. But when allwas said, he had come up from the sea himself, had built up a proudlittle business with no capital but his own skill and foresight, andhad proved himself a man. In his daughter, John Bergson recognizedthe strength of will, and the simple direct way of thinking thingsout, that had characterized his father in his better days. Hewould much rather, of course, have seen this likeness in one ofhis sons, but it was not a question of choice. As he lay thereday after day he had to accept the situation as it was, and to bethankful that there was one among his children to whom he couldentrust the future of his family and the possibilities of hishard-won land. 

The winter twilight was fading. The sick man heard his wife strikea match in the kitchen, and the light of a lamp glimmered throughthe cracks of the door. It seemed like a light shining far away. He turned painfully in his bed and looked at his white hands, withall the work gone out of them. He was ready to give up, he felt. He did not know how it had come about, but he was quite willing togo deep under his fields and rest, where the plow could not findhim. He was tired of making mistakes. He was content to leave thetangle to other hands; he thought of his Alexandra's strong ones. 

"DOTTER, " he called feebly, "DOTTER!" He heard her quick step andsaw her tall figure appear in the doorway, with the light of thelamp behind her. He felt her youth and strength, how easily shemoved and stooped and lifted. But he would not have had it againif he could, not he! He knew the end too well to wish to beginagain. He knew where it all went to, what it all became. 

His daughter came and lifted him up on his pillows. She calledhim by an old Swedish name that she used to call him when she waslittle and took his dinner to him in the shipyard. 

"Tell the boys to come here, daughter. I want to speak to them. "

"They are feeding the horses, father. They have just come backfrom the Blue. Shall I call them?"

He sighed. "No, no. Wait until they come in. Alexandra, you willhave to do the best you can for your brothers. Everything willcome on you. "

"I will do all I can, father. "

"Don't let them get discouraged and go off like Uncle Otto. I wantthem to keep the land. "

"We will, father. We will never lose the land. "

There was a sound of heavy feet in the kitchen. Alexandra wentto the door and beckoned to her brothers, two strapping boys ofseventeen and nineteen. They came in and stood at the foot of thebed. Their father looked at them searchingly, though it was toodark to see their faces; they were just the same boys, he toldhimself, he had not been mistaken in them. The square head andheavy shoulders belonged to Oscar, the elder. The younger boy wasquicker, but vacillating. 

"Boys, " said the father wearily, "I want you to keep the landtogether and to be guided by your sister. I have talked to hersince I have been sick, and she knows all my wishes. I want noquarrels among my children, and so long as there is one house theremust be one head. Alexandra is the oldest, and she knows my wishes. She will do the best she can. If she makes mistakes, she will notmake so many as I have made. When you marry, and want a house ofyour own, the land will be divided fairly, according to the courts. But for the next few years you will have it hard, and you must allkeep together. Alexandra will manage the best she can. "

Oscar, who was usually the last to speak, replied because hewas the older, "Yes, father. It would be so anyway, without yourspeaking. We will all work the place together. "

"And you will be guided by your sister, boys, and be good brothersto her, and good sons to your mother? That is good. And Alexandramust not work in the fields any more. There is no necessity now. Hire a man when you need help. She can make much more with hereggs and butter than the wages of a man. It was one of my mistakesthat I did not find that out sooner. Try to break a little moreland every year; sod corn is good for fodder. Keep turning theland, and always put up more hay than you need. Don't grudge yourmother a little time for plowing her garden and setting out fruittrees, even if it comes in a busy season. She has been a goodmother to you, and she has always missed the old country. "

When they went back to the kitchen the boys sat down silently atthe table. Throughout the meal they looked down at their platesand did not lift their red eyes. They did not eat much, althoughthey had been working in the cold all day, and there was a rabbitstewed in gravy for supper, and prune pies. 

John Bergson had married beneath him, but he had married a goodhousewife. Mrs. Bergson was a fair-skinned, corpulent woman, heavyand placid like her son, Oscar, but there was something comfortableabout her; perhaps it was her own love of comfort. For eleven yearsshe had worthily striven to maintain some semblance of householdorder amid conditions that made order very difficult. Habitwas very strong with Mrs. Bergson, and her unremitting efforts torepeat the routine of her old life among new surroundings had donea great deal to keep the family from disintegrating morally andgetting careless in their ways. The Bergsons had a log house, forinstance, only because Mrs. Bergson would not live in a sod house. She missed the fish diet of her own country, and twice every summershe sent the boys to the river, twenty miles to the southward, tofish for channel cat. When the children were little she used toload them all into the wagon, the baby in its crib, and go fishingherself. 

Alexandra often said that if her mother were cast upon a desertisland, she would thank God for her deliverance, make a garden, and find something to preserve. Preserving was almost a mania withMrs. Bergson. Stout as she was, she roamed the scrubby banks ofNorway Creek looking for fox grapes and goose plums, like a wildcreature in search of prey. She made a yellow jam of the insipidground-cherries that grew on the prairie, flavoring it with lemonpeel; and she made a sticky dark conserve of garden tomatoes. Shehad experimented even with the rank buffalo-pea, and she couldnot see a fine bronze cluster of them without shaking her head andmurmuring, "What a pity!" When there was nothing more to preserve, she began to pickle. The amount of sugar she used in these processeswas sometimes a serious drain upon the family resources. She wasa good mother, but she was glad when her children were old enoughnot to be in her way in the kitchen. She had never quite forgivenJohn Bergson for bringing her to the end of the earth; but, nowthat she was there, she wanted to be let alone to reconstruct herold life in so far as that was possible. She could still take somecomfort in the world if she had bacon in the cave, glass jars onthe shelves, and sheets in the press. She disapproved of all herneighbors because of their slovenly housekeeping, and the womenthought her very proud. Once when Mrs. Bergson, on her way toNorway Creek, stopped to see old Mrs. Lee, the old woman hid inthe haymow "for fear Mis' Bergson would catch her barefoot. "

III

One Sunday afternoon in July, six months after John Bergson's death, Carl was sitting in the doorway of the Linstrum kitchen, dreamingover an illustrated paper, when he heard the rattle of a wagon alongthe hill road. Looking up he recognized the Bergsons' team, withtwo seats in the wagon, which meant they were off for a pleasureexcursion. Oscar and Lou, on the front seat, wore their cloth hatsand coats, never worn except on Sundays, and Emil, on the secondseat with Alexandra, sat proudly in his new trousers, made from apair of his father's, and a pink-striped shirt, with a wide ruffledcollar. Oscar stopped the horses and waved to Carl, who caught uphis hat and ran through the melon patch to join them. 

"Want to go with us?" Lou called. "We're going to Crazy Ivar's tobuy a hammock. "

"Sure. " Carl ran up panting, and clambering over the wheel satdown beside Emil. "I've always wanted to see Ivar's pond. Theysay it's the biggest in all the country. Aren't you afraid to goto Ivar's in that new shirt, Emil? He might want it and take itright off your back. "

Emil grinned. "I'd be awful scared to go, " he admitted, "if youbig boys weren't along to take care of me. Did you ever hear himhowl, Carl? People say sometimes he runs about the country howlingat night because he is afraid the Lord will destroy him. Motherthinks he must have done something awful wicked. "

Lou looked back and winked at Carl. "What would you do, Emil, ifyou was out on the prairie by yourself and seen him coming?"

Emil stared. "Maybe I could hide in a badger-hole, " he suggesteddoubtfully. 

"But suppose there wasn't any badger-hole, " Lou persisted. "Wouldyou run?"

"No, I'd be too scared to run, " Emil admitted mournfully, twistinghis fingers. "I guess I'd sit right down on the ground and say myprayers. "

The big boys laughed, and Oscar brandished his whip over the broadbacks of the horses. 

"He wouldn't hurt you, Emil, " said Carl persuasively. "He cameto doctor our mare when she ate green corn and swelled up most asbig as the water-tank. He petted her just like you do your cats. I couldn't understand much he said, for he don't talk any English, but he kept patting her and groaning as if he had the pain himself, and saying, 'There now, sister, that's easier, that's better!'"

Lou and Oscar laughed, and Emil giggled delightedly and looked upat his sister. 

"I don't think he knows anything at all about doctoring, " saidOscar scornfully. "They say when horses have distemper he takesthe medicine himself, and then prays over the horses. "

Alexandra spoke up. "That's what the Crows said, but he curedtheir horses, all the same. Some days his mind is cloudy, like. But if you can get him on a clear day, you can learn a great dealfrom him. He understands animals. Didn't I see him take the hornoff the Berquist's cow when she had torn it loose and went crazy?She was tearing all over the place, knocking herself against things. And at last she ran out on the roof of the old dugout and her legswent through and there she stuck, bellowing. Ivar came runningwith his white bag, and the moment he got to her she was quiet andlet him saw her horn off and daub the place with tar. "

Emil had been watching his sister, his face reflecting the sufferingsof the cow. "And then didn't it hurt her any more?" he asked. 

Alexandra patted him. "No, not any more. And in two days theycould use her milk again. "

The road to Ivar's homestead was a very poor one. He had settledin the rough country across the county line, where no one lived butsome Russians, --half a dozen families who dwelt together in one longhouse, divided off like barracks. Ivar had explained his choiceby saying that the fewer neighbors he had, the fewer temptations. Nevertheless, when one considered that his chief business washorse-doctoring, it seemed rather short-sighted of him to live in themost inaccessible place he could find. The Bergson wagon lurchedalong over the rough hummocks and grass banks, followed the bottomof winding draws, or skirted the margin of wide lagoons, where thegolden coreopsis grew up out of the clear water and the wild ducksrose with a whirr of wings. 

Lou looked after them helplessly. "I wish I'd brought my gun, anyway, Alexandra, " he said fretfully. "I could have hidden itunder the straw in the bottom of the wagon. "

"Then we'd have had to lie to Ivar. Besides, they say he can smelldead birds. And if he knew, we wouldn't get anything out of him, not even a hammock. I want to talk to him, and he won't talk senseif he's angry. It makes him foolish. "

Lou sniffed. "Whoever heard of him talking sense, anyhow! I'drather have ducks for supper than Crazy Ivar's tongue. "

Emil was alarmed. "Oh, but, Lou, you don't want to make him mad!He might howl!"

They all laughed again, and Oscar urged the horses up the crumblingside of a clay bank. They had left the lagoons and the red grassbehind them. In Crazy Ivar's country the grass was short and gray, the draws deeper than they were in the Bergsons' neighborhood, and the land was all broken up into hillocks and clay ridges. Thewild flowers disappeared, and only in the bottom of the draws andgullies grew a few of the very toughest and hardiest: shoestring, and ironweed, and snow-on-the-mountain. 

"Look, look, Emil, there's Ivar's big pond!" Alexandra pointed toa shining sheet of water that lay at the bottom of a shallow draw. At one end of the pond was an earthen dam, planted with green willowbushes, and above it a door and a single window were set into thehillside. You would not have seen them at all but for the reflectionof the sunlight upon the four panes of window-glass. And that wasall you saw. Not a shed, not a corral, not a well, not even a pathbroken in the curly grass. But for the piece of rusty stovepipesticking up through the sod, you could have walked over the roofof Ivar's dwelling without dreaming that you were near a humanhabitation. Ivar had lived for three years in the clay bank, without defiling the face of nature any more than the coyote thathad lived there before him had done. 

When the Bergsons drove over the hill, Ivar was sitting in thedoorway of his house, reading the Norwegian Bible. He was a queerlyshaped old man, with a thick, powerful body set on short bow-legs. His shaggy white hair, falling in a thick mane about his ruddycheeks, made him look older than he was. He was barefoot, buthe wore a clean shirt of unbleached cotton, open at the neck. Healways put on a clean shirt when Sunday morning came round, thoughhe never went to church. He had a peculiar religion of his ownand could not get on with any of the denominations. Often he didnot see anybody from one week's end to another. He kept a calendar, and every morning he checked off a day, so that he was never inany doubt as to which day of the week it was. Ivar hired himselfout in threshing and corn-husking time, and he doctored sick animalswhen he was sent for. When he was at home, he made hammocks outof twine and committed chapters of the Bible to memory. 

Ivar found contentment in the solitude he had sought out for himself. He disliked the litter of human dwellings: the broken food, thebits of broken china, the old wash-boilers and tea-kettles throwninto the sunflower patch. He preferred the cleanness and tidiness ofthe wild sod. He always said that the badgers had cleaner housesthan people, and that when he took a housekeeper her name wouldbe Mrs. Badger. He best expressed his preference for his wildhomestead by saying that his Bible seemed truer to him there. Ifone stood in the doorway of his cave, and looked off at the roughland, the smiling sky, the curly grass white in the hot sunlight;if one listened to the rapturous song of the lark, the drumming ofthe quail, the burr of the locust against that vast silence, oneunderstood what Ivar meant. 

On this Sunday afternoon his face shone with happiness. He closedthe book on his knee, keeping the place with his horny finger, andrepeated softly:--

 He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills;

 They give drink to every beast of the field; the wild asses quench their thirst. 

 The trees of the Lord are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon which he hath planted;

 Where the birds make their nests: as for the stork, the fir trees are her house. 

 The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats; and the rocks for the conies. 

Before he opened his Bible again, Ivar heard the Bergsons' wagonapproaching, and he sprang up and ran toward it. 

"No guns, no guns!" he shouted, waving his arms distractedly. 

"No, Ivar, no guns, " Alexandra called reassuringly. 

He dropped his arms and went up to the wagon, smiling amiably andlooking at them out of his pale blue eyes. 

"We want to buy a hammock, if you have one, " Alexandra explained, "and my little brother, here, wants to see your big pond, where somany birds come. "

Ivar smiled foolishly, and began rubbing the horses' noses andfeeling about their mouths behind the bits. "Not many birds justnow. A few ducks this morning; and some snipe come to drink. Butthere was a crane last week. She spent one night and came back thenext evening. I don't know why. It is not her season, of course. Many of them go over in the fall. Then the pond is full of strangevoices every night. "

Alexandra translated for Carl, who looked thoughtful. "Ask him, Alexandra, if it is true that a sea gull came here once. I haveheard so. "

She had some difficulty in making the old man understand. 

He looked puzzled at first, then smote his hands together as heremembered. "Oh, yes, yes! A big white bird with long wings andpink feet. My! what a voice she had! She came in the afternoonand kept flying about the pond and screaming until dark. She wasin trouble of some sort, but I could not understand her. She wasgoing over to the other ocean, maybe, and did not know how far itwas. She was afraid of never getting there. She was more mournfulthan our birds here; she cried in the night. She saw the lightfrom my window and darted up to it. Maybe she thought my housewas a boat, she was such a wild thing. Next morning, when the sunrose, I went out to take her food, but she flew up into the skyand went on her way. " Ivar ran his fingers through his thick hair. "I have many strange birds stop with me here. They come from veryfar away and are great company. I hope you boys never shoot wildbirds?"

Lou and Oscar grinned, and Ivar shook his bushy head. "Yes, I knowboys are thoughtless. But these wild things are God's birds. Hewatches over them and counts them, as we do our cattle; Christ saysso in the New Testament. "

"Now, Ivar, " Lou asked, "may we water our horses at your pond andgive them some feed? It's a bad road to your place. "

"Yes, yes, it is. " The old man scrambled about and began to loosethe tugs. "A bad road, eh, girls? And the bay with a colt athome!"

Oscar brushed the old man aside. "We'll take care of the horses, Ivar. You'll be finding some disease on them. Alexandra wants tosee your hammocks. "

Ivar led Alexandra and Emil to his little cave house. He had butone room, neatly plastered and whitewashed, and there was a woodenfloor. There was a kitchen stove, a table covered with oilcloth, two chairs, a clock, a calendar, a few books on the window-shelf;nothing more. But the place was as clean as a cupboard. 

"But where do you sleep, Ivar?" Emil asked, looking about. 

Ivar unslung a hammock from a hook on the wall; in it was rolleda buffalo robe. "There, my son. A hammock is a good bed, and inwinter I wrap up in this skin. Where I go to work, the beds arenot half so easy as this. "

By this time Emil had lost all his timidity. He thought a cave avery superior kind of house. There was something pleasantly unusualabout it and about Ivar. "Do the birds know you will be kind tothem, Ivar? Is that why so many come?" he asked. 

Ivar sat down on the floor and tucked his feet under him. "See, little brother, they have come from a long way, and they are verytired. From up there where they are flying, our country looks darkand flat. They must have water to drink and to bathe in beforethey can go on with their journey. They look this way and that, and far below them they see something shining, like a piece of glassset in the dark earth. That is my pond. They come to it and arenot disturbed. Maybe I sprinkle a little corn. They tell the otherbirds, and next year more come this way. They have their roads upthere, as we have down here. "

Emil rubbed his knees thoughtfully. "And is that true, Ivar, aboutthe head ducks falling back when they are tired, and the hind onestaking their place?"

"Yes. The point of the wedge gets the worst of it; they cut thewind. They can only stand it there a little while--half an hour, maybe. Then they fall back and the wedge splits a little, whilethe rear ones come up the middle to the front. Then it closes upand they fly on, with a new edge. They are always changing likethat, up in the air. Never any confusion; just like soldiers whohave been drilled. "

Alexandra had selected her hammock by the time the boys came upfrom the pond. They would not come in, but sat in the shade ofthe bank outside while Alexandra and Ivar talked about the birdsand about his housekeeping, and why he never ate meat, fresh orsalt. 

Alexandra was sitting on one of the wooden chairs, her arms restingon the table. Ivar was sitting on the floor at her feet. "Ivar, "she said suddenly, beginning to trace the pattern on the oilclothwith her forefinger, "I came to-day more because I wanted to talkto you than because I wanted to buy a hammock. "

"Yes?" The old man scraped his bare feet on the plank floor. 

"We have a big bunch of hogs, Ivar. I wouldn't sell in the spring, when everybody advised me to, and now so many people are losingtheir hogs that I am frightened. What can be done?"

Ivar's little eyes began to shine. They lost their vagueness. 

"You feed them swill and such stuff? Of course! And sour milk?Oh, yes! And keep them in a stinking pen? I tell you, sister, the hogs of this country are put upon! They become unclean, likethe hogs in the Bible. If you kept your chickens like that, whatwould happen? You have a little sorghum patch, maybe? Put a fencearound it, and turn the hogs in. Build a shed to give them shade, a thatch on poles. Let the boys haul water to them in barrels, clean water, and plenty. Get them off the old stinking ground, anddo not let them go back there until winter. Give them only grainand clean feed, such as you would give horses or cattle. Hogs donot like to be filthy. "

The boys outside the door had been listening. Lou nudged hisbrother. "Come, the horses are done eating. Let's hitch up andget out of here. He'll fill her full of notions. She'll be forhaving the pigs sleep with us, next. "

Oscar grunted and got up. Carl, who could not understand what Ivarsaid, saw that the two boys were displeased. They did not mindhard work, but they hated experiments and could never see the useof taking pains. Even Lou, who was more elastic than his olderbrother, disliked to do anything different from their neighbors. He felt that it made them conspicuous and gave people a chance totalk about them. 

Once they were on the homeward road, the boys forgot their ill-humorand joked about Ivar and his birds. Alexandra did not propose anyreforms in the care of the pigs, and they hoped she had forgottenIvar's talk. They agreed that he was crazier than ever, and wouldnever be able to prove up on his land because he worked it so little. Alexandra privately resolved that she would have a talk with Ivarabout this and stir him up. The boys persuaded Carl to stay forsupper and go swimming in the pasture pond after dark. 

That evening, after she had washed the supper dishes, Alexandrasat down on the kitchen doorstep, while her mother was mixing thebread. It was a still, deep-breathing summer night, full of thesmell of the hay fields. Sounds of laughter and splashing cameup from the pasture, and when the moon rose rapidly above the barerim of the prairie, the pond glittered like polished metal, andshe could see the flash of white bodies as the boys ran about theedge, or jumped into the water. Alexandra watched the shimmeringpool dreamily, but eventually her eyes went back to the sorghumpatch south of the barn, where she was planning to make her newpig corral. 

IV

For the first three years after John Bergson's death, the affairsof his family prospered. Then came the hard times that broughtevery one on the Divide to the brink of despair; three years ofdrouth and failure, the last struggle of a wild soil against theencroaching plowshare. The first of these fruitless summers theBergson boys bore courageously. The failure of the corn crop madelabor cheap. Lou and Oscar hired two men and put in bigger cropsthan ever before. They lost everything they spent. The wholecountry was discouraged. Farmers who were already in debt had togive up their land. A few foreclosures demoralized the county. The settlers sat about on the wooden sidewalks in the little townand told each other that the country was never meant for men to livein; the thing to do was to get back to Iowa, to Illinois, to anyplace that had been proved habitable. The Bergson boys, certainly, would have been happier with their uncle Otto, in the bakery shopin Chicago. Like most of their neighbors, they were meant to followin paths already marked out for them, not to break trails in a newcountry. A steady job, a few holidays, nothing to think about, andthey would have been very happy. It was no fault of theirs thatthey had been dragged into the wilderness when they were littleboys. A pioneer should have imagination, should be able to enjoythe idea of things more than the things themselves. 

The second of these barren summers was passing. One Septemberafternoon Alexandra had gone over to the garden across the draw todig sweet potatoes--they had been thriving upon the weather thatwas fatal to everything else. But when Carl Linstrum came up thegarden rows to find her, she was not working. She was standinglost in thought, leaning upon her pitchfork, her sunbonnet lyingbeside her on the ground. The dry garden patch smelled of dryingvines and was strewn with yellow seed-cucumbers and pumpkins andcitrons. At one end, next the rhubarb, grew feathery asparagus, with red berries. Down the middle of the garden was a row ofgooseberry and currant bushes. A few tough zenias and marigoldsand a row of scarlet sage bore witness to the buckets of waterthat Mrs. Bergson had carried there after sundown, against theprohibition of her sons. Carl came quietly and slowly up the gardenpath, looking intently at Alexandra. She did not hear him. She wasstanding perfectly still, with that serious ease so characteristicof her. Her thick, reddish braids, twisted about her head, fairlyburned in the sunlight. The air was cool enough to make the warmsun pleasant on one's back and shoulders, and so clear that theeye could follow a hawk up and up, into the blazing blue depths ofthe sky. Even Carl, never a very cheerful boy, and considerablydarkened by these last two bitter years, loved the country on dayslike this, felt something strong and young and wild come out ofit, that laughed at care. 

"Alexandra, " he said as he approached her, "I want to talk to you. Let's sit down by the gooseberry bushes. " He picked up her sackof potatoes and they crossed the garden. "Boys gone to town?" heasked as he sank down on the warm, sun-baked earth. "Well, we havemade up our minds at last, Alexandra. We are really going away. "

She looked at him as if she were a little frightened. "Really, Carl? Is it settled?"

"Yes, father has heard from St. Louis, and they will give him backhis old job in the cigar factory. He must be there by the firstof November. They are taking on new men then. We will sell theplace for whatever we can get, and auction the stock. We haven'tenough to ship. I am going to learn engraving with a German engraverthere, and then try to get work in Chicago. "

Alexandra's hands dropped in her lap. Her eyes became dreamy andfilled with tears. 

Carl's sensitive lower lip trembled. He scratched in the soft earthbeside him with a stick. "That's all I hate about it, Alexandra, "he said slowly. "You've stood by us through so much and helpedfather out so many times, and now it seems as if we were runningoff and leaving you to face the worst of it. But it isn't as ifwe could really ever be of any help to you. We are only one moredrag, one more thing you look out for and feel responsible for. Father was never meant for a farmer, you know that. And I hateit. We'd only get in deeper and deeper. "

"Yes, yes, Carl, I know. You are wasting your life here. You areable to do much better things. You are nearly nineteen now, andI wouldn't have you stay. I've always hoped you would get away. But I can't help feeling scared when I think how I will missyou--more than you will ever know. " She brushed the tears from hercheeks, not trying to hide them. 

"But, Alexandra, " he said sadly and wistfully, "I've never beenany real help to you, beyond sometimes trying to keep the boys ina good humor. "

Alexandra smiled and shook her head. "Oh, it's not that. Nothinglike that. It's by understanding me, and the boys, and mother, that you've helped me. I expect that is the only way one personever really can help another. I think you are about the only onethat ever helped me. Somehow it will take more courage to bearyour going than everything that has happened before. "

Carl looked at the ground. "You see, we've all depended so on you, "he said, "even father. He makes me laugh. When anything comes uphe always says, 'I wonder what the Bergsons are going to do aboutthat? I guess I'll go and ask her. ' I'll never forget that time, when we first came here, and our horse had the colic, and I ranover to your place--your father was away, and you came home with meand showed father how to let the wind out of the horse. You wereonly a little girl then, but you knew ever so much more about farmwork than poor father. You remember how homesick I used to get, and what long talks we used to have coming from school? We'vesomeway always felt alike about things. "

"Yes, that's it; we've liked the same things and we've liked themtogether, without anybody else knowing. And we've had good times, hunting for Christmas trees and going for ducks and making our plumwine together every year. We've never either of us had any otherclose friend. And now--" Alexandra wiped her eyes with the cornerof her apron, "and now I must remember that you are going whereyou will have many friends, and will find the work you were meantto do. But you'll write to me, Carl? That will mean a great dealto me here. "

"I'll write as long as I live, " cried the boy impetuously. "AndI'll be working for you as much as for myself, Alexandra. I wantto do something you'll like and be proud of. I'm a fool here, butI know I can do something!" He sat up and frowned at the red grass. 

Alexandra sighed. "How discouraged the boys will be when theyhear. They always come home from town discouraged, anyway. Somany people are trying to leave the country, and they talk to ourboys and make them low-spirited. I'm afraid they are beginning tofeel hard toward me because I won't listen to any talk about going. Sometimes I feel like I'm getting tired of standing up for thiscountry. "

"I won't tell the boys yet, if you'd rather not. "

"Oh, I'll tell them myself, to-night, when they come home. They'llbe talking wild, anyway, and no good comes of keeping bad news. It's all harder on them than it is on me. Lou wants to get married, poor boy, and he can't until times are better. See, there goes thesun, Carl. I must be getting back. Mother will want her potatoes. It's chilly already, the moment the light goes. "

Alexandra rose and looked about. A golden afterglow throbbed inthe west, but the country already looked empty and mournful. A darkmoving mass came over the western hill, the Lee boy was bringing inthe herd from the other half-section. Emil ran from the windmillto open the corral gate. From the log house, on the little riseacross the draw, the smoke was curling. The cattle lowed andbellowed. In the sky the pale half-moon was slowly silvering. Alexandra and Carl walked together down the potato rows. "I haveto keep telling myself what is going to happen, " she said softly. "Since you have been here, ten years now, I have never really beenlonely. But I can remember what it was like before. Now I shallhave nobody but Emil. But he is my boy, and he is tender-hearted. "

That night, when the boys were called to supper, they sat downmoodily. They had worn their coats to town, but they ate in theirstriped shirts and suspenders. They were grown men now, and, asAlexandra said, for the last few years they had been growing moreand more like themselves. Lou was still the slighter of the two, the quicker and more intelligent, but apt to go off at half-cock. He had a lively blue eye, a thin, fair skin (always burned red tothe neckband of his shirt in summer), stiff, yellow hair that wouldnot lie down on his head, and a bristly little yellow mustache, of which he was very proud. Oscar could not grow a mustache; hispale face was as bare as an egg, and his white eyebrows gave it anempty look. He was a man of powerful body and unusual endurance;the sort of man you could attach to a corn-sheller as you wouldan engine. He would turn it all day, without hurrying, withoutslowing down. But he was as indolent of mind as he was unsparingof his body. His love of routine amounted to a vice. He workedlike an insect, always doing the same thing over in the same way, regardless of whether it was best or no. He felt that there wasa sovereign virtue in mere bodily toil, and he rather liked todo things in the hardest way. If a field had once been in corn, he couldn't bear to put it into wheat. He liked to begin hiscorn-planting at the same time every year, whether the season werebackward or forward. He seemed to feel that by his own irreproachableregularity he would clear himself of blame and reprove the weather. When the wheat crop failed, he threshed the straw at a dead lossto demonstrate how little grain there was, and thus prove his caseagainst Providence. 

Lou, on the other hand, was fussy and flighty; always planned toget through two days' work in one, and often got only the leastimportant things done. He liked to keep the place up, but he nevergot round to doing odd jobs until he had to neglect more pressingwork to attend to them. In the middle of the wheat harvest, whenthe grain was over-ripe and every hand was needed, he would stopto mend fences or to patch the harness; then dash down to thefield and overwork and be laid up in bed for a week. The two boysbalanced each other, and they pulled well together. They had beengood friends since they were children. One seldom went anywhere, even to town, without the other. 

To-night, after they sat down to supper, Oscar kept looking at Louas if he expected him to say something, and Lou blinked his eyesand frowned at his plate. It was Alexandra herself who at lastopened the discussion. 

"The Linstrums, " she said calmly, as she put another plate of hotbiscuit on the table, "are going back to St. Louis. The old manis going to work in the cigar factory again. "

At this Lou plunged in. "You see, Alexandra, everybody who cancrawl out is going away. There's no use of us trying to stick itout, just to be stubborn. There's something in knowing when toquit. "

"Where do you want to go, Lou?"

"Any place where things will grow, " said Oscar grimly. 

Lou reached for a potato. "Chris Arnson has traded his half-sectionfor a place down on the river. "

"Who did he trade with?"

"Charley Fuller, in town. "

"Fuller the real estate man? You see, Lou, that Fuller has a headon him. He's buying and trading for every bit of land he can getup here. It'll make him a rich man, some day. "

"He's rich now, that's why he can take a chance. "

"Why can't we? We'll live longer than he will. Some day the landitself will be worth more than all we can ever raise on it. "

Lou laughed. "It could be worth that, and still not be worthmuch. Why, Alexandra, you don't know what you're talking about. Our place wouldn't bring now what it would six years ago. Thefellows that settled up here just made a mistake. Now they'rebeginning to see this high land wasn't never meant to grow nothingon, and everybody who ain't fixed to graze cattle is trying tocrawl out. It's too high to farm up here. All the Americans areskinning out. That man Percy Adams, north of town, told me thathe was going to let Fuller take his land and stuff for four hundreddollars and a ticket to Chicago. "

"There's Fuller again!" Alexandra exclaimed. "I wish that manwould take me for a partner. He's feathering his nest! If onlypoor people could learn a little from rich people! But all thesefellows who are running off are bad farmers, like poor Mr. Linstrum. They couldn't get ahead even in good years, and they all got intodebt while father was getting out. I think we ought to hold on aslong as we can on father's account. He was so set on keeping thisland. He must have seen harder times than this, here. How was itin the early days, mother?"

Mrs. Bergson was weeping quietly. These family discussions alwaysdepressed her, and made her remember all that she had been tornaway from. "I don't see why the boys are always taking on aboutgoing away, " she said, wiping her eyes. "I don't want to moveagain; out to some raw place, maybe, where we'd be worse off thanwe are here, and all to do over again. I won't move! If the restof you go, I will ask some of the neighbors to take me in, and stayand be buried by father. I'm not going to leave him by himselfon the prairie, for cattle to run over. " She began to cry morebitterly. 

The boys looked angry. Alexandra put a soothing hand on her mother'sshoulder. "There's no question of that, mother. You don't haveto go if you don't want to. A third of the place belongs to youby American law, and we can't sell without your consent. We onlywant you to advise us. How did it use to be when you and fatherfirst came? Was it really as bad as this, or not?"

"Oh, worse! Much worse, " moaned Mrs. Bergson. "Drouth, chince-bugs, hail, everything! My garden all cut to pieces like sauerkraut. Nograpes on the creek, no nothing. The people all lived just likecoyotes. "

Oscar got up and tramped out of the kitchen. Lou followed him. They felt that Alexandra had taken an unfair advantage in turningtheir mother loose on them. The next morning they were silent andreserved. They did not offer to take the women to church, but wentdown to the barn immediately after breakfast and stayed there allday. When Carl Linstrum came over in the afternoon, Alexandrawinked to him and pointed toward the barn. He understood her andwent down to play cards with the boys. They believed that a verywicked thing to do on Sunday, and it relieved their feelings. 

Alexandra stayed in the house. On Sunday afternoon Mrs. Bergsonalways took a nap, and Alexandra read. During the week she readonly the newspaper, but on Sunday, and in the long evenings ofwinter, she read a good deal; read a few things over a great manytimes. She knew long portions of the "Frithjof Saga" by heart, and, like most Swedes who read at all, she was fond of Longfellow'sverse, --the ballads and the "Golden Legend" and "The Spanish Student. "To-day she sat in the wooden rocking-chair with the Swedish Bibleopen on her knees, but she was not reading. She was lookingthoughtfully away at the point where the upland road disappearedover the rim of the prairie. Her body was in an attitude of perfectrepose, such as it was apt to take when she was thinking earnestly. Her mind was slow, truthful, steadfast. She had not the leastspark of cleverness. 

All afternoon the sitting-room was full of quiet and sunlight. Emil was making rabbit traps in the kitchen shed. The hens wereclucking and scratching brown holes in the flower beds, and thewind was teasing the prince's feather by the door. 

That evening Carl came in with the boys to supper. 

"Emil, " said Alexandra, when they were all seated at the table, "how would you like to go traveling? Because I am going to takea trip, and you can go with me if you want to. "

The boys looked up in amazement; they were always afraid ofAlexandra's schemes. Carl was interested. 

"I've been thinking, boys, " she went on, "that maybe I am too setagainst making a change. I'm going to take Brigham and the buckboardto-morrow and drive down to the river country and spend a few dayslooking over what they've got down there. If I find anything good, you boys can go down and make a trade. "

"Nobody down there will trade for anything up here, " said Oscargloomily. 

"That's just what I want to find out. Maybe they are just asdiscontented down there as we are up here. Things away from homeoften look better than they are. You know what your Hans Andersenbook says, Carl, about the Swedes liking to buy Danish bread andthe Danes liking to buy Swedish bread, because people always thinkthe bread of another country is better than their own. Anyway, I've heard so much about the river farms, I won't be satisfied tillI've seen for myself. "

Lou fidgeted. "Look out! Don't agree to anything. Don't let themfool you. "

Lou was apt to be fooled himself. He had not yet learned to keepaway from the shell-game wagons that followed the circus. 

After supper Lou put on a necktie and went across the fields tocourt Annie Lee, and Carl and Oscar sat down to a game of checkers, while Alexandra read "The Swiss Family Robinson" aloud to her motherand Emil. It was not long before the two boys at the table neglectedtheir game to listen. They were all big children together, and theyfound the adventures of the family in the tree house so absorbingthat they gave them their undivided attention. 

V

Alexandra and Emil spent five days down among the river farms, driving up and down the valley. Alexandra talked to the men abouttheir crops and to the women about their poultry. She spent awhole day with one young farmer who had been away at school, andwho was experimenting with a new kind of clover hay. She learneda great deal. As they drove along, she and Emil talked and planned. At last, on the sixth day, Alexandra turned Brigham's head northwardand left the river behind. 

"There's nothing in it for us down there, Emil. There are a fewfine farms, but they are owned by the rich men in town, and couldn'tbe bought. Most of the land is rough and hilly. They can alwaysscrape along down there, but they can never do anything big. Downthere they have a little certainty, but up with us there is a bigchance. We must have faith in the high land, Emil. I want to holdon harder than ever, and when you're a man you'll thank me. " Sheurged Brigham forward. 

When the road began to climb the first long swells of the Divide, Alexandra hummed an old Swedish hymn, and Emil wondered why hissister looked so happy. Her face was so radiant that he felt shyabout asking her. For the first time, perhaps, since that landemerged from the waters of geologic ages, a human face was set towardit with love and yearning. It seemed beautiful to her, rich andstrong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it, untilher tears blinded her. Then the Genius of the Divide, the great, free spirit which breathes across it, must have bent lower thanit ever bent to a human will before. The history of every countrybegins in the heart of a man or a woman. 

Alexandra reached home in the afternoon. That evening she helda family council and told her brothers all that she had seen andheard. 

"I want you boys to go down yourselves and look it over. Nothingwill convince you like seeing with your own eyes. The river landwas settled before this, and so they are a few years ahead of us, and have learned more about farming. The land sells for threetimes as much as this, but in five years we will double it. Therich men down there own all the best land, and they are buyingall they can get. The thing to do is to sell our cattle and whatlittle old corn we have, and buy the Linstrum place. Then the nextthing to do is to take out two loans on our half-sections, and buyPeter Crow's place; raise every dollar we can, and buy every acrewe can. "

"Mortgage the homestead again?" Lou cried. He sprang up and beganto wind the clock furiously. "I won't slave to pay off anothermortgage. I'll never do it. You'd just as soon kill us all, Alexandra, to carry out some scheme!"

Oscar rubbed his high, pale forehead. "How do you propose to payoff your mortgages?"

Alexandra looked from one to the other and bit her lip. They hadnever seen her so nervous. "See here, " she brought out at last. "We borrow the money for six years. Well, with the money we buya half-section from Linstrum and a half from Crow, and a quarterfrom Struble, maybe. That will give us upwards of fourteen hundredacres, won't it? You won't have to pay off your mortgages for sixyears. By that time, any of this land will be worth thirty dollarsan acre--it will be worth fifty, but we'll say thirty; then youcan sell a garden patch anywhere, and pay off a debt of sixteenhundred dollars. It's not the principal I'm worried about, it'sthe interest and taxes. We'll have to strain to meet the payments. But as sure as we are sitting here to-night, we can sit down hereten years from now independent landowners, not struggling farmersany longer. The chance that father was always looking for hascome. "

Lou was pacing the floor. "But how do you KNOW that land is goingto go up enough to pay the mortgages and--"

"And make us rich besides?" Alexandra put in firmly. "I can'texplain that, Lou. You'll have to take my word for it. I KNOW, that's all. When you drive about over the country you can feel itcoming. "

Oscar had been sitting with his head lowered, his hands hangingbetween his knees. "But we can't work so much land, " he saiddully, as if he were talking to himself. "We can't even try. Itwould just lie there and we'd work ourselves to death. " He sighed, and laid his calloused fist on the table. 

Alexandra's eyes filled with tears. She put her hand on hisshoulder. "You poor boy, you won't have to work it. The men intown who are buying up other people's land don't try to farm it. They are the men to watch, in a new country. Let's try to dolike the shrewd ones, and not like these stupid fellows. I don'twant you boys always to have to work like this. I want you to beindependent, and Emil to go to school. "

Lou held his head as if it were splitting. "Everybody will say weare crazy. It must be crazy, or everybody would be doing it. "

"If they were, we wouldn't have much chance. No, Lou, I was talkingabout that with the smart young man who is raising the new kindof clover. He says the right thing is usually just what everybodydon't do. Why are we better fixed than any of our neighbors? Becausefather had more brains. Our people were better people than thesein the old country. We OUGHT to do more than they do, and seefurther ahead. Yes, mother, I'm going to clear the table now. "

Alexandra rose. The boys went to the stable to see to the stock, and they were gone a long while. When they came back Lou played onhis DRAGHARMONIKA and Oscar sat figuring at his father's secretaryall evening. They said nothing more about Alexandra's project, but she felt sure now that they would consent to it. Just beforebedtime Oscar went out for a pail of water. When he did not comeback, Alexandra threw a shawl over her head and ran down the pathto the windmill. She found him sitting there with his head in hishands, and she sat down beside him. 

"Don't do anything you don't want to do, Oscar, " she whispered. She waited a moment, but he did not stir. "I won't say any moreabout it, if you'd rather not. What makes you so discouraged?"

"I dread signing my name to them pieces of paper, " he said slowly. "All the time I was a boy we had a mortgage hanging over us. "

"Then don't sign one. I don't want you to, if you feel that way. "

Oscar shook his head. "No, I can see there's a chance that way. I've thought a good while there might be. We're in so deep now, wemight as well go deeper. But it's hard work pulling out of debt. Like pulling a threshing-machine out of the mud; breaks your back. Me and Lou's worked hard, and I can't see it's got us ahead much. "

"Nobody knows about that as well as I do, Oscar. That's why I wantto try an easier way. I don't want you to have to grub for everydollar. "

"Yes, I know what you mean. Maybe it'll come out right. But signingpapers is signing papers. There ain't no maybe about that. " Hetook his pail and trudged up the path to the house. 

Alexandra drew her shawl closer about her and stood leaning againstthe frame of the mill, looking at the stars which glittered sokeenly through the frosty autumn air. She always loved to watchthem, to think of their vastness and distance, and of their orderedmarch. It fortified her to reflect upon the great operationsof nature, and when she thought of the law that lay behind them, she felt a sense of personal security. That night she had a newconsciousness of the country, felt almost a new relation to it. Even her talk with the boys had not taken away the feeling that hadoverwhelmed her when she drove back to the Divide that afternoon. She had never known before how much the country meant to her. Thechirping of the insects down in the long grass had been like thesweetest music. She had felt as if her heart were hiding downthere, somewhere, with the quail and the plover and all the littlewild things that crooned or buzzed in the sun. Under the longshaggy ridges, she felt the future stirring. 

PART II. Neighboring Fields

I

IT is sixteen years since John Bergson died. His wife now liesbeside him, and the white shaft that marks their graves gleamsacross the wheat-fields. Could he rise from beneath it, he wouldnot know the country under which he has been asleep. The shaggy coatof the prairie, which they lifted to make him a bed, has vanishedforever. From the Norwegian graveyard one looks out over a vastchecker-board, marked off in squares of wheat and corn; light anddark, dark and light. Telephone wires hum along the white roads, which always run at right angles. From the graveyard gate one cancount a dozen gayly painted farmhouses; the gilded weather-vaneson the big red barns wink at each other across the green and brownand yellow fields. The light steel windmills tremble throughouttheir frames and tug at their moorings, as they vibrate in the windthat often blows from one week's end to another across that high, active, resolute stretch of country. 

The Divide is now thickly populated. The rich soil yields heavyharvests; the dry, bracing climate and the smoothness of the landmake labor easy for men and beasts. There are few scenes moregratifying than a spring plowing in that country, where the furrowsof a single field often lie a mile in length, and the brown earth, with such a strong, clean smell, and such a power of growth andfertility in it, yields itself eagerly to the plow; rolls awayfrom the shear, not even dimming the brightness of the metal, witha soft, deep sigh of happiness. The wheat-cutting sometimes goeson all night as well as all day, and in good seasons there arescarcely men and horses enough to do the harvesting. The grain isso heavy that it bends toward the blade and cuts like velvet. 

There is something frank and joyous and young in the open faceof the country. It gives itself ungrudgingly to the moods of theseason, holding nothing back. Like the plains of Lombardy, itseems to rise a little to meet the sun. The air and the earth arecuriously mated and intermingled, as if the one were the breathof the other. You feel in the atmosphere the same tonic, puissantquality that is in the tilth, the same strength and resoluteness. 

One June morning a young man stood at the gate of the Norwegiangraveyard, sharpening his scythe in strokes unconsciously timed tothe tune he was whistling. He wore a flannel cap and duck trousers, and the sleeves of his white flannel shirt were rolled back tothe elbow. When he was satisfied with the edge of his blade, heslipped the whetstone into his hip pocket and began to swing hisscythe, still whistling, but softly, out of respect to the quietfolk about him. Unconscious respect, probably, for he seemedintent upon his own thoughts, and, like the Gladiator's, they werefar away. He was a splendid figure of a boy, tall and straightas a young pine tree, with a handsome head, and stormy gray eyes, deeply set under a serious brow. The space between his two frontteeth, which were unusually far apart, gave him the proficiencyin whistling for which he was distinguished at college. (He alsoplayed the cornet in the University band. )

When the grass required his close attention, or when he had tostoop to cut about a head-stone, he paused in his lively air, --the"Jewel" song, --taking it up where he had left it when his scytheswung free again. He was not thinking about the tired pioneersover whom his blade glittered. The old wild country, the strugglein which his sister was destined to succeed while so many men broketheir hearts and died, he can scarcely remember. That is all amongthe dim things of childhood and has been forgotten in the brighterpattern life weaves to-day, in the bright facts of being captainof the track team, and holding the interstate record for the highjump, in the all-suffusing brightness of being twenty-one. Yetsometimes, in the pauses of his work, the young man frowned andlooked at the ground with an intentness which suggested that eventwenty-one might have its problems. 

When he had been mowing the better part of an hour, he heard therattle of a light cart on the road behind him. Supposing that itwas his sister coming back from one of her farms, he kept on withhis work. The cart stopped at the gate and a merry contralto voicecalled, "Almost through, Emil?" He dropped his scythe and wenttoward the fence, wiping his face and neck with his handkerchief. In the cart sat a young woman who wore driving gauntlets and a wideshade hat, trimmed with red poppies. Her face, too, was ratherlike a poppy, round and brown, with rich color in her cheeks andlips, and her dancing yellow-brown eyes bubbled with gayety. Thewind was flapping her big hat and teasing a curl of her chestnut-coloredhair. She shook her head at the tall youth. 

"What time did you get over here? That's not much of a job foran athlete. Here I've been to town and back. Alexandra lets yousleep late. Oh, I know! Lou's wife was telling me about the wayshe spoils you. I was going to give you a lift, if you were done. "She gathered up her reins. 

"But I will be, in a minute. Please wait for me, Marie, " Emilcoaxed. "Alexandra sent me to mow our lot, but I've done half adozen others, you see. Just wait till I finish off the Kourdnas'. By the way, they were Bohemians. Why aren't they up in the Catholicgraveyard?"

"Free-thinkers, " replied the young woman laconically. 

"Lots of the Bohemian boys at the University are, " said Emil, takingup his scythe again. "What did you ever burn John Huss for, anyway?It's made an awful row. They still jaw about it in history classes. "

"We'd do it right over again, most of us, " said the young womanhotly. "Don't they ever teach you in your history classes thatyou'd all be heathen Turks if it hadn't been for the Bohemians?"

Emil had fallen to mowing. "Oh, there's no denying you're a spunkylittle bunch, you Czechs, " he called back over his shoulder. 

Marie Shabata settled herself in her seat and watched the rhythmicalmovement of the young man's long arms, swinging her foot as ifin time to some air that was going through her mind. The minutespassed. Emil mowed vigorously and Marie sat sunning herself andwatching the long grass fall. She sat with the ease that belongsto persons of an essentially happy nature, who can find a comfortablespot almost anywhere; who are supple, and quick in adapting themselvesto circumstances. After a final swish, Emil snapped the gate andsprang into the cart, holding his scythe well out over the wheel. "There, " he sighed. "I gave old man Lee a cut or so, too. Lou'swife needn't talk. I never see Lou's scythe over here. "

Marie clucked to her horse. "Oh, you know Annie!" She looked atthe young man's bare arms. "How brown you've got since you camehome. I wish I had an athlete to mow my orchard. I get wet to myknees when I go down to pick cherries. "

"You can have one, any time you want him. Better wait until afterit rains. " Emil squinted off at the horizon as if he were lookingfor clouds. 

"Will you? Oh, there's a good boy!" She turned her head to himwith a quick, bright smile. He felt it rather than saw it. Indeed, he had looked away with the purpose of not seeing it. "I've beenup looking at Angelique's wedding clothes, " Marie went on, "andI'm so excited I can hardly wait until Sunday. Amedee will bea handsome bridegroom. Is anybody but you going to stand up withhim? Well, then it will be a handsome wedding party. " She made adroll face at Emil, who flushed. "Frank, " Marie continued, flickingher horse, "is cranky at me because I loaned his saddle to JanSmirka, and I'm terribly afraid he won't take me to the dance inthe evening. Maybe the supper will tempt him. All Angelique'sfolks are baking for it, and all Amedee's twenty cousins. Therewill be barrels of beer. If once I get Frank to the supper, I'llsee that I stay for the dance. And by the way, Emil, you mustn'tdance with me but once or twice. You must dance with all the Frenchgirls. It hurts their feelings if you don't. They think you'reproud because you've been away to school or something. "

Emil sniffed. "How do you know they think that?"

"Well, you didn't dance with them much at Raoul Marcel's party, andI could tell how they took it by the way they looked at you--andat me. "

"All right, " said Emil shortly, studying the glittering blade ofhis scythe. 

They drove westward toward Norway Creek, and toward a big whitehouse that stood on a hill, several miles across the fields. Therewere so many sheds and outbuildings grouped about it that theplace looked not unlike a tiny village. A stranger, approachingit, could not help noticing the beauty and fruitfulness of theoutlying fields. There was something individual about the greatfarm, a most unusual trimness and care for detail. On either sideof the road, for a mile before you reached the foot of the hill, stood tall osage orange hedges, their glossy green marking offthe yellow fields. South of the hill, in a low, sheltered swale, surrounded by a mulberry hedge, was the orchard, its fruit treesknee-deep in timothy grass. Any one thereabouts would have toldyou that this was one of the richest farms on the Divide, and thatthe farmer was a woman, Alexandra Bergson. 

If you go up the hill and enter Alexandra's big house, you willfind that it is curiously unfinished and uneven in comfort. Oneroom is papered, carpeted, over-furnished; the next is almostbare. The pleasantest rooms in the house are the kitchen--whereAlexandra's three young Swedish girls chatter and cook and pickleand preserve all summer long--and the sitting-room, in whichAlexandra has brought together the old homely furniture that theBergsons used in their first log house, the family portraits, andthe few things her mother brought from Sweden. 

When you go out of the house into the flower garden, there you feelagain the order and fine arrangement manifest all over the greatfarm; in the fencing and hedging, in the windbreaks and sheds, inthe symmetrical pasture ponds, planted with scrub willows to giveshade to the cattle in fly-time. There is even a white row ofbeehives in the orchard, under the walnut trees. You feel that, properly, Alexandra's house is the big out-of-doors, and that itis in the soil that she expresses herself best. 

II

Emil reached home a little past noon, and when he went into thekitchen Alexandra was already seated at the head of the long table, having dinner with her men, as she always did unless there werevisitors. He slipped into his empty place at his sister's right. The three pretty young Swedish girls who did Alexandra's houseworkwere cutting pies, refilling coffeecups, placing platters of breadand meat and potatoes upon the red tablecloth, and continuallygetting in each other's way between the table and the stove. To besure they always wasted a good deal of time getting in each other'sway and giggling at each other's mistakes. But, as Alexandra hadpointedly told her sisters-in-law, it was to hear them giggle thatshe kept three young things in her kitchen; the work she coulddo herself, if it were necessary. These girls, with their longletters from home, their finery, and their love-affairs, affordedher a great deal of entertainment, and they were company for herwhen Emil was away at school. 

Of the youngest girl, Signa, who has a pretty figure, mottled pinkcheeks, and yellow hair, Alexandra is very fond, though she keepsa sharp eye upon her. Signa is apt to be skittish at mealtime, whenthe men are about, and to spill the coffee or upset the cream. Itis supposed that Nelse Jensen, one of the six men at the dinner-table, is courting Signa, though he has been so careful not to commithimself that no one in the house, least of all Signa, can telljust how far the matter has progressed. Nelse watches her glumlyas she waits upon the table, and in the evening he sits on a benchbehind the stove with his DRAGHARMONIKA, playing mournful airsand watching her as she goes about her work. When Alexandra askedSigna whether she thought Nelse was in earnest, the poor child hidher hands under her apron and murmured, "I don't know, ma'm. Buthe scolds me about everything, like as if he wanted to have me!"

At Alexandra's left sat a very old man, barefoot and wearing a longblue blouse, open at the neck. His shaggy head is scarcely whiterthan it was sixteen years ago, but his little blue eyes have becomepale and watery, and his ruddy face is withered, like an apple thathas clung all winter to the tree. When Ivar lost his land throughmismanagement a dozen years ago, Alexandra took him in, and he hasbeen a member of her household ever since. He is too old to workin the fields, but he hitches and unhitches the work-teams andlooks after the health of the stock. Sometimes of a winter eveningAlexandra calls him into the sitting-room to read the Bible aloudto her, for he still reads very well. He dislikes human habitations, so Alexandra has fitted him up a room in the barn, where he is verycomfortable, being near the horses and, as he says, further fromtemptations. No one has ever found out what his temptations are. In cold weather he sits by the kitchen fire and makes hammocksor mends harness until it is time to go to bed. Then he says hisprayers at great length behind the stove, puts on his buffalo-skincoat and goes out to his room in the barn. 

Alexandra herself has changed very little. Her figure is fuller, and she has more color. She seems sunnier and more vigorous thanshe did as a young girl. But she still has the same calmness anddeliberation of manner, the same clear eyes, and she still wearsher hair in two braids wound round her head. It is so curly thatfiery ends escape from the braids and make her head look like oneof the big double sunflowers that fringe her vegetable garden. Her face is always tanned in summer, for her sunbonnet is ofteneron her arm than on her head. But where her collar falls away fromher neck, or where her sleeves are pushed back from her wrist, theskin is of such smoothness and whiteness as none but Swedish womenever possess; skin with the freshness of the snow itself. 

Alexandra did not talk much at the table, but she encouraged hermen to talk, and she always listened attentively, even when theyseemed to be talking foolishly. 

To-day Barney Flinn, the big red-headed Irishman who had been withAlexandra for five years and who was actually her foreman, thoughhe had no such title, was grumbling about the new silo she had putup that spring. It happened to be the first silo on the Divide, and Alexandra's neighbors and her men were skeptical about it. "Tobe sure, if the thing don't work, we'll have plenty of feed withoutit, indeed, " Barney conceded. 

Nelse Jensen, Signa's gloomy suitor, had his word. "Lou, he sayshe wouldn't have no silo on his place if you'd give it to him. He says the feed outen it gives the stock the bloat. He heard ofsomebody lost four head of horses, feedin' 'em that stuff. "

Alexandra looked down the table from one to another. "Well, the only way we can find out is to try. Lou and I have differentnotions about feeding stock, and that's a good thing. It's bad ifall the members of a family think alike. They never get anywhere. Lou can learn by my mistakes and I can learn by his. Isn't thatfair, Barney?"

The Irishman laughed. He had no love for Lou, who was always uppishwith him and who said that Alexandra paid her hands too much. "I'veno thought but to give the thing an honest try, mum. 'T would beonly right, after puttin' so much expense into it. Maybe Emil willcome out an' have a look at it wid me. " He pushed back his chair, took his hat from the nail, and marched out with Emil, who, withhis university ideas, was supposed to have instigated the silo. The other hands followed them, all except old Ivar. He had beendepressed throughout the meal and had paid no heed to the talk ofthe men, even when they mentioned cornstalk bloat, upon which hewas sure to have opinions. 

"Did you want to speak to me, Ivar?" Alexandra asked as she rosefrom the table. "Come into the sitting-room. "

The old man followed Alexandra, but when she motioned him to a chairhe shook his head. She took up her workbasket and waited for himto speak. He stood looking at the carpet, his bushy head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him. Ivar's bandy legs seemed tohave grown shorter with years, and they were completely misfittedto his broad, thick body and heavy shoulders. 

"Well, Ivar, what is it?" Alexandra asked after she had waitedlonger than usual. 

Ivar had never learned to speak English and his Norwegian was quaintand grave, like the speech of the more old-fashioned people. Healways addressed Alexandra in terms of the deepest respect, hopingto set a good example to the kitchen girls, whom he thought toofamiliar in their manners. 

"Mistress, " he began faintly, without raising his eyes, "the folkhave been looking coldly at me of late. You know there has beentalk. "

"Talk about what, Ivar?"

"About sending me away; to the asylum. "

Alexandra put down her sewing-basket. "Nobody has come to me withsuch talk, " she said decidedly. "Why need you listen? You knowI would never consent to such a thing. "

Ivar lifted his shaggy head and looked at her out of his littleeyes. "They say that you cannot prevent it if the folk complain ofme, if your brothers complain to the authorities. They say thatyour brothers are afraid--God forbid!--that I may do you someinjury when my spells are on me. Mistress, how can any one thinkthat?--that I could bite the hand that fed me!" The tears trickleddown on the old man's beard. 

Alexandra frowned. "Ivar, I wonder at you, that you should comebothering me with such nonsense. I am still running my own house, and other people have nothing to do with either you or me. So longas I am suited with you, there is nothing to be said. "

Ivar pulled a red handkerchief out of the breast of his blouse andwiped his eyes and beard. "But I should not wish you to keep meif, as they say, it is against your interests, and if it is hardfor you to get hands because I am here. "

Alexandra made an impatient gesture, but the old man put out hishand and went on earnestly:--

"Listen, mistress, it is right that you should take these thingsinto account. You know that my spells come from God, and thatI would not harm any living creature. You believe that every oneshould worship God in the way revealed to him. But that is notthe way of this country. The way here is for all to do alike. Iam despised because I do not wear shoes, because I do not cut myhair, and because I have visions. At home, in the old country, there were many like me, who had been touched by God, or who hadseen things in the graveyard at night and were different afterward. We thought nothing of it, and let them alone. But here, if a manis different in his feet or in his head, they put him in the asylum. Look at Peter Kralik; when he was a boy, drinking out of a creek, he swallowed a snake, and always after that he could eat onlysuch food as the creature liked, for when he ate anything else, itbecame enraged and gnawed him. When he felt it whipping about inhim, he drank alcohol to stupefy it and get some ease for himself. He could work as good as any man, and his head was clear, but theylocked him up for being different in his stomach. That is the way;they have built the asylum for people who are different, and theywill not even let us live in the holes with the badgers. Onlyyour great prosperity has protected me so far. If you had hadill-fortune, they would have taken me to Hastings long ago. "

As Ivar talked, his gloom lifted. Alexandra had found that shecould often break his fasts and long penances by talking to himand letting him pour out the thoughts that troubled him. Sympathyalways cleared his mind, and ridicule was poison to him. 

"There is a great deal in what you say, Ivar. Like as not theywill be wanting to take me to Hastings because I have built a silo;and then I may take you with me. But at present I need you here. Only don't come to me again telling me what people say. Let peoplego on talking as they like, and we will go on living as we thinkbest. You have been with me now for twelve years, and I have goneto you for advice oftener than I have ever gone to any one. Thatought to satisfy you. "

Ivar bowed humbly. "Yes, mistress, I shall not trouble you withtheir talk again. And as for my feet, I have observed your wishesall these years, though you have never questioned me; washing themevery night, even in winter. "

Alexandra laughed. "Oh, never mind about your feet, Ivar. We canremember when half our neighbors went barefoot in summer. I expectold Mrs. Lee would love to slip her shoes off now sometimes, ifshe dared. I'm glad I'm not Lou's mother-in-law. "

Ivar looked about mysteriously and lowered his voice almost to awhisper. "You know what they have over at Lou's house? A greatwhite tub, like the stone water-troughs in the old country, to washthemselves in. When you sent me over with the strawberries, theywere all in town but the old woman Lee and the baby. She took mein and showed me the thing, and she told me it was impossible towash yourself clean in it, because, in so much water, you couldnot make a strong suds. So when they fill it up and send her inthere, she pretends, and makes a splashing noise. Then, when theyare all asleep, she washes herself in a little wooden tub she keepsunder her bed. "

Alexandra shook with laughter. "Poor old Mrs. Lee! They won't lether wear nightcaps, either. Never mind; when she comes to visitme, she can do all the old things in the old way, and have as muchbeer as she wants. We'll start an asylum for old-time people, Ivar. "

Ivar folded his big handkerchief carefully and thrust it back intohis blouse. "This is always the way, mistress. I come to yousorrowing, and you send me away with a light heart. And will yoube so good as to tell the Irishman that he is not to work the browngelding until the sore on its shoulder is healed?"

"That I will. Now go and put Emil's mare to the cart. I am goingto drive up to the north quarter to meet the man from town who isto buy my alfalfa hay. "

III

Alexandra was to hear more of Ivar's case, however. On Sunday hermarried brothers came to dinner. She had asked them for that daybecause Emil, who hated family parties, would be absent, dancingat Amedee Chevalier's wedding, up in the French country. The tablewas set for company in the dining-room, where highly varnishedwood and colored glass and useless pieces of china were conspicuousenough to satisfy the standards of the new prosperity. Alexandrahad put herself into the hands of the Hanover furniture dealer, andhe had conscientiously done his best to make her dining-room looklike his display window. She said frankly that she knew nothingabout such things, and she was willing to be governed by the generalconviction that the more useless and utterly unusable objectswere, the greater their virtue as ornament. That seemed reasonableenough. Since she liked plain things herself, it was all the morenecessary to have jars and punchbowls and candlesticks in the companyrooms for people who did appreciate them. Her guests liked to seeabout them these reassuring emblems of prosperity. 

The family party was complete except for Emil, and Oscar's wifewho, in the country phrase, "was not going anywhere just now. "Oscar sat at the foot of the table and his four tow-headed littleboys, aged from twelve to five, were ranged at one side. NeitherOscar nor Lou has changed much; they have simply, as Alexandra saidof them long ago, grown to be more and more like themselves. Lounow looks the older of the two; his face is thin and shrewd andwrinkled about the eyes, while Oscar's is thick and dull. For allhis dullness, however, Oscar makes more money than his brother, which adds to Lou's sharpness and uneasiness and tempts him tomake a show. The trouble with Lou is that he is tricky, and hisneighbors have found out that, as Ivar says, he has not a fox's facefor nothing. Politics being the natural field for such talents, he neglects his farm to attend conventions and to run for countyoffices. 

Lou's wife, formerly Annie Lee, has grown to look curiously likeher husband. Her face has become longer, sharper, more aggressive. She wears her yellow hair in a high pompadour, and is bedecked withrings and chains and "beauty pins. " Her tight, high-heeled shoesgive her an awkward walk, and she is always more or less preoccupiedwith her clothes. As she sat at the table, she kept telling heryoungest daughter to "be careful now, and not drop anything onmother. "

The conversation at the table was all in English. Oscar's wife, from the malaria district of Missouri, was ashamed of marrying aforeigner, and his boys do not understand a word of Swedish. Annieand Lou sometimes speak Swedish at home, but Annie is almost asmuch afraid of being "caught" at it as ever her mother was of beingcaught barefoot. Oscar still has a thick accent, but Lou speakslike anybody from Iowa. 

"When I was in Hastings to attend the convention, " he was saying, "I saw the superintendent of the asylum, and I was telling him aboutIvar's symptoms. He says Ivar's case is one of the most dangerouskind, and it's a wonder he hasn't done something violent beforethis. "

Alexandra laughed good-humoredly. "Oh, nonsense, Lou! The doctorswould have us all crazy if they could. Ivar's queer, certainly, but he has more sense than half the hands I hire. "

Lou flew at his fried chicken. "Oh, I guess the doctor knows hisbusiness, Alexandra. He was very much surprised when I told himhow you'd put up with Ivar. He says he's likely to set fire to thebarn any night, or to take after you and the girls with an axe. "

Little Signa, who was waiting on the table, giggled and fled tothe kitchen. Alexandra's eyes twinkled. "That was too much forSigna, Lou. We all know that Ivar's perfectly harmless. The girlswould as soon expect me to chase them with an axe. "

Lou flushed and signaled to his wife. "All the same, the neighborswill be having a say about it before long. He may burn anybody'sbarn. It's only necessary for one property-owner in the townshipto make complaint, and he'll be taken up by force. You'd bettersend him yourself and not have any hard feelings. "

Alexandra helped one of her little nephews to gravy. "Well, Lou, if any of the neighbors try that, I'll have myself appointed Ivar'sguardian and take the case to court, that's all. I am perfectlysatisfied with him. "

"Pass the preserves, Lou, " said Annie in a warning tone. She hadreasons for not wishing her husband to cross Alexandra too openly. "But don't you sort of hate to have people see him around here, Alexandra?" she went on with persuasive smoothness. "He IS adisgraceful object, and you're fixed up so nice now. It sort ofmakes people distant with you, when they never know when they'llhear him scratching about. My girls are afraid as death of him, aren't you, Milly, dear?"

Milly was fifteen, fat and jolly and pompadoured, with a creamycomplexion, square white teeth, and a short upper lip. Shelooked like her grandmother Bergson, and had her comfortable andcomfort-loving nature. She grinned at her aunt, with whom she wasa great deal more at ease than she was with her mother. Alexandrawinked a reply. 

"Milly needn't be afraid of Ivar. She's an especial favorite ofhis. In my opinion Ivar has just as much right to his own way ofdressing and thinking as we have. But I'll see that he doesn'tbother other people. I'll keep him at home, so don't trouble anymore about him, Lou. I've been wanting to ask you about your newbathtub. How does it work?"

Annie came to the fore to give Lou time to recover himself. "Oh, it works something grand! I can't keep him out of it. He washeshimself all over three times a week now, and uses all the hot water. I think it's weakening to stay in as long as he does. You oughtto have one, Alexandra. "

"I'm thinking of it. I might have one put in the barn for Ivar, if it will ease people's minds. But before I get a bathtub, I'mgoing to get a piano for Milly. "

Oscar, at the end of the table, looked up from his plate. "Whatdoes Milly want of a pianny? What's the matter with her organ?She can make some use of that, and play in church. "

Annie looked flustered. She had begged Alexandra not to sayanything about this plan before Oscar, who was apt to be jealousof what his sister did for Lou's children. Alexandra did not geton with Oscar's wife at all. "Milly can play in church just thesame, and she'll still play on the organ. But practising on itso much spoils her touch. Her teacher says so, " Annie brought outwith spirit. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Well, Milly must have got on pretty goodif she's got past the organ. I know plenty of grown folks thatain't, " he said bluntly. 

Annie threw up her chin. "She has got on good, and she's going toplay for her commencement when she graduates in town next year. "

"Yes, " said Alexandra firmly, "I think Milly deserves a piano. All the girls around here have been taking lessons for years, butMilly is the only one of them who can ever play anything when youask her. I'll tell you when I first thought I would like to giveyou a piano, Milly, and that was when you learned that book of oldSwedish songs that your grandfather used to sing. He had a sweettenor voice, and when he was a young man he loved to sing. I canremember hearing him singing with the sailors down in the shipyard, when I was no bigger than Stella here, " pointing to Annie's youngerdaughter. 

Milly and Stella both looked through the door into the sitting-room, where a crayon portrait of John Bergson hung on the wall. Alexandrahad had it made from a little photograph, taken for his friendsjust before he left Sweden; a slender man of thirty-five, withsoft hair curling about his high forehead, a drooping mustache, and wondering, sad eyes that looked forward into the distance, asif they already beheld the New World. 

After dinner Lou and Oscar went to the orchard to pick cherries--theyhad neither of them had the patience to grow an orchard of theirown--and Annie went down to gossip with Alexandra's kitchen girlswhile they washed the dishes. She could always find out more aboutAlexandra's domestic economy from the prattling maids than fromAlexandra herself, and what she discovered she used to her ownadvantage with Lou. On the Divide, farmers' daughters no longerwent out into service, so Alexandra got her girls from Sweden, bypaying their fare over. They stayed with her until they married, and were replaced by sisters or cousins from the old country. 

Alexandra took her three nieces into the flower garden. She wasfond of the little girls, especially of Milly, who came to spenda week with her aunt now and then, and read aloud to her from theold books about the house, or listened to stories about the earlydays on the Divide. While they were walking among the flower beds, a buggy drove up the hill and stopped in front of the gate. A mangot out and stood talking to the driver. The little girls weredelighted at the advent of a stranger, some one from very far away, they knew by his clothes, his gloves, and the sharp, pointed cutof his dark beard. The girls fell behind their aunt and peeped outat him from among the castor beans. The stranger came up to thegate and stood holding his hat in his hand, smiling, while Alexandraadvanced slowly to meet him. As she approached he spoke in a low, pleasant voice. 

"Don't you know me, Alexandra? I would have known you, anywhere. "

Alexandra shaded her eyes with her hand. Suddenly she took a quickstep forward. "Can it be!" she exclaimed with feeling; "can it bethat it is Carl Linstrum? Why, Carl, it is!" She threw out bothher hands and caught his across the gate. "Sadie, Milly, run tellyour father and Uncle Oscar that our old friend Carl Linstrum ishere. Be quick! Why, Carl, how did it happen? I can't believethis!" Alexandra shook the tears from her eyes and laughed. 

The stranger nodded to his driver, dropped his suitcase insidethe fence, and opened the gate. "Then you are glad to see me, andyou can put me up overnight? I couldn't go through this countrywithout stopping off to have a look at you. How little you havechanged! Do you know, I was sure it would be like that. Yousimply couldn't be different. How fine you are!" He stepped backand looked at her admiringly. 

Alexandra blushed and laughed again. "But you yourself, Carl--withthat beard--how could I have known you? You went away a littleboy. " She reached for his suitcase and when he intercepted hershe threw up her hands. "You see, I give myself away. I have onlywomen come to visit me, and I do not know how to behave. Where isyour trunk?"

"It's in Hanover. I can stay only a few days. I am on my way tothe coast. "

They started up the path. "A few days? After all these years!"Alexandra shook her finger at him. "See this, you have walkedinto a trap. You do not get away so easy. " She put her handaffectionately on his shoulder. "You owe me a visit for the sakeof old times. Why must you go to the coast at all?"

"Oh, I must! I am a fortune hunter. From Seattle I go on toAlaska. "

"Alaska?" She looked at him in astonishment. "Are you going topaint the Indians?"

"Paint?" the young man frowned. "Oh! I'm not a painter, Alexandra. I'm an engraver. I have nothing to do with painting. "

"But on my parlor wall I have the paintings--"

He interrupted nervously. "Oh, water-color sketches--done foramusement. I sent them to remind you of me, not because they weregood. What a wonderful place you have made of this, Alexandra. "He turned and looked back at the wide, map-like prospect of fieldand hedge and pasture. "I would never have believed it could bedone. I'm disappointed in my own eye, in my imagination. "

At this moment Lou and Oscar came up the hill from the orchard. They did not quicken their pace when they saw Carl; indeed, theydid not openly look in his direction. They advanced distrustfully, and as if they wished the distance were longer. 

Alexandra beckoned to them. "They think I am trying to fool them. Come, boys, it's Carl Linstrum, our old Carl!"

Lou gave the visitor a quick, sidelong glance and thrust out hishand. "Glad to see you. "

Oscar followed with "How d' do. " Carl could not tell whether theiroffishness came from unfriendliness or from embarrassment. He andAlexandra led the way to the porch. 

"Carl, " Alexandra explained, "is on his way to Seattle. He isgoing to Alaska. "

Oscar studied the visitor's yellow shoes. "Got business there?"he asked. 

Carl laughed. "Yes, very pressing business. I'm going there toget rich. Engraving's a very interesting profession, but a mannever makes any money at it. So I'm going to try the goldfields. "

Alexandra felt that this was a tactful speech, and Lou looked upwith some interest. "Ever done anything in that line before?"

"No, but I'm going to join a friend of mine who went out from NewYork and has done well. He has offered to break me in. "

"Turrible cold winters, there, I hear, " remarked Oscar. "I thoughtpeople went up there in the spring. "

"They do. But my friend is going to spend the winter in Seattle andI am to stay with him there and learn something about prospectingbefore we start north next year. "

Lou looked skeptical. "Let's see, how long have you been away fromhere?"

"Sixteen years. You ought to remember that, Lou, for you weremarried just after we went away. "

"Going to stay with us some time?" Oscar asked. 

"A few days, if Alexandra can keep me. "

"I expect you'll be wanting to see your old place, " Lou observedmore cordially. "You won't hardly know it. But there's a fewchunks of your old sod house left. Alexandra wouldn't never letFrank Shabata plough over it. "

Annie Lee, who, ever since the visitor was announced, had beentouching up her hair and settling her lace and wishing she had wornanother dress, now emerged with her three daughters and introducedthem. She was greatly impressed by Carl's urban appearance, andin her excitement talked very loud and threw her head about. "Andyou ain't married yet? At your age, now! Think of that! You'llhave to wait for Milly. Yes, we've got a boy, too. The youngest. He's at home with his grandma. You must come over to see motherand hear Milly play. She's the musician of the family. She doespyrography, too. That's burnt wood, you know. You wouldn't believewhat she can do with her poker. Yes, she goes to school in town, and she is the youngest in her class by two years. "

Milly looked uncomfortable and Carl took her hand again. He likedher creamy skin and happy, innocent eyes, and he could see that hermother's way of talking distressed her. "I'm sure she's a cleverlittle girl, " he murmured, looking at her thoughtfully. "Let mesee--Ah, it's your mother that she looks like, Alexandra. Mrs. Bergson must have looked just like this when she was a littlegirl. Does Milly run about over the country as you and Alexandraused to, Annie?"

Milly's mother protested. "Oh, my, no! Things has changed sincewe was girls. Milly has it very different. We are going to rentthe place and move into town as soon as the girls are old enoughto go out into company. A good many are doing that here now. Louis going into business. "

Lou grinned. "That's what she says. You better go get your thingson. Ivar's hitching up, " he added, turning to Annie. 

Young farmers seldom address their wives by name. It is always"you, " or "she. "

Having got his wife out of the way, Lou sat down on the step andbegan to whittle. "Well, what do folks in New York think of WilliamJennings Bryan?" Lou began to bluster, as he always did when hetalked politics. "We gave Wall Street a scare in ninety-six, allright, and we're fixing another to hand them. Silver wasn't theonly issue, " he nodded mysteriously. "There's a good many thingsgot to be changed. The West is going to make itself heard. "

Carl laughed. "But, surely, it did do that, if nothing else. "

Lou's thin face reddened up to the roots of his bristly hair. "Oh, we've only begun. We're waking up to a sense of our responsibilities, out here, and we ain't afraid, neither. You fellows back theremust be a tame lot. If you had any nerve you'd get together andmarch down to Wall Street and blow it up. Dynamite it, I mean, "with a threatening nod. 

He was so much in earnest that Carl scarcely knew how to answerhim. "That would be a waste of powder. The same business wouldgo on in another street. The street doesn't matter. But what haveyou fellows out here got to kick about? You have the only safeplace there is. Morgan himself couldn't touch you. One only hasto drive through this country to see that you're all as rich asbarons. "

"We have a good deal more to say than we had when we were poor, "said Lou threateningly. "We're getting on to a whole lot of things. "

As Ivar drove a double carriage up to the gate, Annie came out ina hat that looked like the model of a battleship. Carl rose andtook her down to the carriage, while Lou lingered for a word withhis sister. 

"What do you suppose he's come for?" he asked, jerking his headtoward the gate. 

"Why, to pay us a visit. I've been begging him to for years. "

Oscar looked at Alexandra. "He didn't let you know he was coming?"

"No. Why should he? I told him to come at any time. "

Lou shrugged his shoulders. "He doesn't seem to have done muchfor himself. Wandering around this way!"

Oscar spoke solemnly, as from the depths of a cavern. "He neverwas much account. "

Alexandra left them and hurried down to the gate where Annie wasrattling on to Carl about her new dining-room furniture. "Youmust bring Mr. Linstrum over real soon, only be sure to telephoneme first, " she called back, as Carl helped her into the carriage. Old Ivar, his white head bare, stood holding the horses. Lou camedown the path and climbed into the front seat, took up the reins, and drove off without saying anything further to any one. Oscarpicked up his youngest boy and trudged off down the road, the otherthree trotting after him. Carl, holding the gate open for Alexandra, began to laugh. "Up and coming on the Divide, eh, Alexandra?" hecried gayly. 

IV

Carl had changed, Alexandra felt, much less than one might haveexpected. He had not become a trim, self-satisfied city man. Therewas still something homely and wayward and definitely personalabout him. Even his clothes, his Norfolk coat and his very highcollars, were a little unconventional. He seemed to shrink intohimself as he used to do; to hold himself away from things, as ifhe were afraid of being hurt. In short, he was more self-con-sciousthan a man of thirty-five is expected to be. He looked older thanhis years and not very strong. His black hair, which still hungin a triangle over his pale forehead, was thin at the crown, andthere were fine, relentless lines about his eyes. His back, withits high, sharp shoulders, looked like the back of an over-workedGerman professor off on his holiday. His face was intelligent, sensitive, unhappy. 

That evening after supper, Carl and Alexandra were sitting by theclump of castor beans in the middle of the flower garden. Thegravel paths glittered in the moonlight, and below them the fieldslay white and still. 

"Do you know, Alexandra, " he was saying, "I've been thinking howstrangely things work out. I've been away engraving other men'spictures, and you've stayed at home and made your own. " He pointedwith his cigar toward the sleeping landscape. "How in the worldhave you done it? How have your neighbors done it?"

"We hadn't any of us much to do with it, Carl. The land did it. It had its little joke. It pretended to be poor because nobodyknew how to work it right; and then, all at once, it worked itself. It woke up out of its sleep and stretched itself, and it was so big, so rich, that we suddenly found we were rich, just from sittingstill. As for me, you remember when I began to buy land. Foryears after that I was always squeezing and borrowing until I wasashamed to show my face in the banks. And then, all at once, menbegan to come to me offering to lend me money--and I didn't needit! Then I went ahead and built this house. I really built itfor Emil. I want you to see Emil, Carl. He is so different fromthe rest of us!"

"How different?"

"Oh, you'll see! I'm sure it was to have sons like Emil, and togive them a chance, that father left the old country. It's curious, too; on the outside Emil is just like an American boy, --he graduatedfrom the State University in June, you know, --but underneath he ismore Swedish than any of us. Sometimes he is so like father thathe frightens me; he is so violent in his feelings like that. "

"Is he going to farm here with you?"

"He shall do whatever he wants to, " Alexandra declared warmly. "Heis going to have a chance, a whole chance; that's what I've workedfor. Sometimes he talks about studying law, and sometimes, justlately, he's been talking about going out into the sand hills andtaking up more land. He has his sad times, like father. But Ihope he won't do that. We have land enough, at last!" Alexandralaughed. 

"How about Lou and Oscar? They've done well, haven't they?"

"Yes, very well; but they are different, and now that they havefarms of their own I do not see so much of them. We divided theland equally when Lou married. They have their own way of doingthings, and they do not altogether like my way, I am afraid. Perhapsthey think me too independent. But I have had to think for myselfa good many years and am not likely to change. On the whole, though, we take as much comfort in each other as most brothers andsisters do. And I am very fond of Lou's oldest daughter. "

"I think I liked the old Lou and Oscar better, and they probablyfeel the same about me. I even, if you can keep a secret, "--Carlleaned forward and touched her arm, smiling, --"I even think I likedthe old country better. This is all very splendid in its way, but there was something about this country when it was a wild oldbeast that has haunted me all these years. Now, when I come backto all this milk and honey, I feel like the old German song, 'Wobist du, wo bist du, mein geliebtest Land?'--Do you ever feel likethat, I wonder?"

"Yes, sometimes, when I think about father and mother and thosewho are gone; so many of our old neighbors. " Alexandra paused andlooked up thoughtfully at the stars. "We can remember the graveyardwhen it was wild prairie, Carl, and now--"

"And now the old story has begun to write itself over there, " saidCarl softly. "Isn't it queer: there are only two or three humanstories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if theyhad never happened before; like the larks in this country, thathave been singing the same five notes over for thousands of years. "

"Oh, yes! The young people, they live so hard. And yet I sometimesenvy them. There is my little neighbor, now; the people who boughtyour old place. I wouldn't have sold it to any one else, but Iwas always fond of that girl. You must remember her, little MarieTovesky, from Omaha, who used to visit here? When she was eighteenshe ran away from the convent school and got married, crazy child!She came out here a bride, with her father and husband. He hadnothing, and the old man was willing to buy them a place and setthem up. Your farm took her fancy, and I was glad to have her sonear me. I've never been sorry, either. I even try to get alongwith Frank on her account. "

"Is Frank her husband?"

"Yes. He's one of these wild fellows. Most Bohemians aregood-natured, but Frank thinks we don't appreciate him here, Iguess. He's jealous about everything, his farm and his horses andhis pretty wife. Everybody likes her, just the same as when shewas little. Sometimes I go up to the Catholic church with Emil, and it's funny to see Marie standing there laughing and shakinghands with people, looking so excited and gay, with Frank sulkingbehind her as if he could eat everybody alive. Frank's not a badneighbor, but to get on with him you've got to make a fuss overhim and act as if you thought he was a very important person allthe time, and different from other people. I find it hard to keepthat up from one year's end to another. "

"I shouldn't think you'd be very successful at that kind of thing, Alexandra. " Carl seemed to find the idea amusing. 

"Well, " said Alexandra firmly, "I do the best I can, on Marie'saccount. She has it hard enough, anyway. She's too young andpretty for this sort of life. We're all ever so much older andslower. But she's the kind that won't be downed easily. She'llwork all day and go to a Bohemian wedding and dance all night, anddrive the hay wagon for a cross man next morning. I could stay bya job, but I never had the go in me that she has, when I was goingmy best. I'll have to take you over to see her to-morrow. "

Carl dropped the end of his cigar softly among the castor beans andsighed. "Yes, I suppose I must see the old place. I'm cowardlyabout things that remind me of myself. It took courage to comeat all, Alexandra. I wouldn't have, if I hadn't wanted to see youvery, very much. "

Alexandra looked at him with her calm, deliberate eyes. "Why doyou dread things like that, Carl?" she asked earnestly. "Why areyou dissatisfied with yourself?"

Her visitor winced. "How direct you are, Alexandra! Just likeyou used to be. Do I give myself away so quickly? Well, you see, for one thing, there's nothing to look forward to in my profession. Wood-engraving is the only thing I care about, and that had gone outbefore I began. Everything's cheap metal work nowadays, touchingup miserable photographs, forcing up poor drawings, and spoiling goodones. I'm absolutely sick of it all. " Carl frowned. "Alexandra, all the way out from New York I've been planning how I coulddeceive you and make you think me a very enviable fellow, and hereI am telling you the truth the first night. I waste a lot of timepretending to people, and the joke of it is, I don't think I everdeceive any one. There are too many of my kind; people know us onsight. "

Carl paused. Alexandra pushed her hair back from her brow with apuzzled, thoughtful gesture. "You see, " he went on calmly, "measuredby your standards here, I'm a failure. I couldn't buy even one ofyour cornfields. I've enjoyed a great many things, but I've gotnothing to show for it all. "

"But you show for it yourself, Carl. I'd rather have had yourfreedom than my land. "

Carl shook his head mournfully. "Freedom so often means that oneisn't needed anywhere. Here you are an individual, you have abackground of your own, you would be missed. But off there in thecities there are thousands of rolling stones like me. We are allalike; we have no ties, we know nobody, we own nothing. When oneof us dies, they scarcely know where to bury him. Our landlady andthe delicatessen man are our mourners, and we leave nothing behindus but a frock-coat and a fiddle, or an easel, or a typewriter, orwhatever tool we got our living by. All we have ever managed todo is to pay our rent, the exorbitant rent that one has to pay fora few square feet of space near the heart of things. We have nohouse, no place, no people of our own. We live in the streets, in the parks, in the theatres. We sit in restaurants and concerthalls and look about at the hundreds of our own kind and shudder. "

Alexandra was silent. She sat looking at the silver spot the moonmade on the surface of the pond down in the pasture. He knew thatshe understood what he meant. At last she said slowly, "And yet Iwould rather have Emil grow up like that than like his two brothers. We pay a high rent, too, though we pay differently. We grow hardand heavy here. We don't move lightly and easily as you do, andour minds get stiff. If the world were no wider than my cornfields, if there were not something beside this, I wouldn't feel that itwas much worth while to work. No, I would rather have Emil likeyou than like them. I felt that as soon as you came. "

"I wonder why you feel like that?" Carl mused. 

"I don't know. Perhaps I am like Carrie Jensen, the sister of oneof my hired men. She had never been out of the cornfields, and afew years ago she got despondent and said life was just the samething over and over, and she didn't see the use of it. After shehad tried to kill herself once or twice, her folks got worried andsent her over to Iowa to visit some relations. Ever since she'scome back she's been perfectly cheerful, and she says she's contentedto live and work in a world that's so big and interesting. Shesaid that anything as big as the bridges over the Platte and theMissouri reconciled her. And it's what goes on in the world thatreconciles me. "

V

Alexandra did not find time to go to her neighbor's the next day, northe next. It was a busy season on the farm, with the corn-plowinggoing on, and even Emil was in the field with a team and cultivator. Carl went about over the farms with Alexandra in the morning, andin the afternoon and evening they found a great deal to talk about. Emil, for all his track practice, did not stand up under farmworkvery well, and by night he was too tired to talk or even to practiseon his cornet. 

On Wednesday morning Carl got up before it was light, and stoledownstairs and out of the kitchen door just as old Ivar was makinghis morning ablutions at the pump. Carl nodded to him and hurriedup the draw, past the garden, and into the pasture where the milkingcows used to be kept. 

The dawn in the east looked like the light from some great fire thatwas burning under the edge of the world. The color was reflectedin the globules of dew that sheathed the short gray pasture grass. Carl walked rapidly until he came to the crest of the second hill, where the Bergson pasture joined the one that had belonged to hisfather. There he sat down and waited for the sun to rise. It wasjust there that he and Alexandra used to do their milking together, heon his side of the fence, she on hers. He could remember exactlyhow she looked when she came over the close-cropped grass, herskirts pinned up, her head bare, a bright tin pail in either hand, and the milky light of the early morning all about her. Even asa boy he used to feel, when he saw her coming with her free step, her upright head and calm shoulders, that she looked as if she hadwalked straight out of the morning itself. Since then, when he hadhappened to see the sun come up in the country or on the water, hehad often remembered the young Swedish girl and her milking pails. 

Carl sat musing until the sun leaped above the prairie, and in thegrass about him all the small creatures of day began to tune theirtiny instruments. Birds and insects without number began to chirp, to twitter, to snap and whistle, to make all manner of fresh shrillnoises. The pasture was flooded with light; every clump of ironweedand snow-on-the-mountain threw a long shadow, and the golden lightseemed to be rippling through the curly grass like the tide racingin. 

He crossed the fence into the pasture that was now the Shabatas' andcontinued his walk toward the pond. He had not gone far, however, when he discovered that he was not the only person abroad. In thedraw below, his gun in his hands, was Emil, advancing cautiously, with a young woman beside him. They were moving softly, keepingclose together, and Carl knew that they expected to find ducks onthe pond. At the moment when they came in sight of the bright spotof water, he heard a whirr of wings and the ducks shot up into theair. There was a sharp crack from the gun, and five of the birdsfell to the ground. Emil and his companion laughed delightedly, and Emil ran to pick them up. When he came back, dangling theducks by their feet, Marie held her apron and he dropped them intoit. As she stood looking down at them, her face changed. Shetook up one of the birds, a rumpled ball of feathers with the blooddripping slowly from its mouth, and looked at the live color thatstill burned on its plumage. 

As she let it fall, she cried in distress, "Oh, Emil, why did you?"

"I like that!" the boy exclaimed indignantly. "Why, Marie, youasked me to come yourself. "

"Yes, yes, I know, " she said tearfully, "but I didn't think. Ihate to see them when they are first shot. They were having sucha good time, and we've spoiled it all for them. "

Emil gave a rather sore laugh. "I should say we had! I'm not goinghunting with you any more. You're as bad as Ivar. Here, let metake them. " He snatched the ducks out of her apron. 

"Don't be cross, Emil. Only--Ivar's right about wild things. They'retoo happy to kill. You can tell just how they felt when they flewup. They were scared, but they didn't really think anything couldhurt them. No, we won't do that any more. "

"All right, " Emil assented. "I'm sorry I made you feel bad. " Ashe looked down into her tearful eyes, there was a curious, sharpyoung bitterness in his own. 

Carl watched them as they moved slowly down the draw. They hadnot seen him at all. He had not overheard much of their dialogue, but he felt the import of it. It made him, somehow, unreasonablymournful to find two young things abroad in the pasture in theearly morning. He decided that he needed his breakfast. 

VI

At dinner that day Alexandra said she thought they must reallymanage to go over to the Shabatas' that afternoon. "It's not oftenI let three days go by without seeing Marie. She will think I haveforsaken her, now that my old friend has come back. "

After the men had gone back to work, Alexandra put on a white dressand her sun-hat, and she and Carl set forth across the fields. "You see we have kept up the old path, Carl. It has been so nicefor me to feel that there was a friend at the other end of itagain. "

Carl smiled a little ruefully. "All the same, I hope it hasn'tbeen QUITE the same. "

Alexandra looked at him with surprise. "Why, no, of course not. Not the same. She could not very well take your place, if that'swhat you mean. I'm friendly with all my neighbors, I hope. ButMarie is really a companion, some one I can talk to quite frankly. You wouldn't want me to be more lonely than I have been, wouldyou?"

Carl laughed and pushed back the triangular lock of hair with theedge of his hat. "Of course I don't. I ought to be thankful thatthis path hasn't been worn by--well, by friends with more pressingerrands than your little Bohemian is likely to have. " He pausedto give Alexandra his hand as she stepped over the stile. "Areyou the least bit disappointed in our coming together again?" heasked abruptly. "Is it the way you hoped it would be?"

Alexandra smiled at this. "Only better. When I've thought aboutyour coming, I've sometimes been a little afraid of it. You havelived where things move so fast, and everything is slow here; thepeople slowest of all. Our lives are like the years, all made upof weather and crops and cows. How you hated cows!" She shook herhead and laughed to herself. 

"I didn't when we milked together. I walked up to the pasturecorners this morning. I wonder whether I shall ever be able totell you all that I was thinking about up there. It's a strangething, Alexandra; I find it easy to be frank with you about everythingunder the sun except--yourself!"

"You are afraid of hurting my feelings, perhaps. " Alexandra lookedat him thoughtfully. 

"No, I'm afraid of giving you a shock. You've seen yourself forso long in the dull minds of the people about you, that if I wereto tell you how you seem to me, it would startle you. But you mustsee that you astonish me. You must feel when people admire you. "

Alexandra blushed and laughed with some confusion. "I felt thatyou were pleased with me, if you mean that. "

"And you've felt when other people were pleased with you?" heinsisted. 

"Well, sometimes. The men in town, at the banks and the countyoffices, seem glad to see me. I think, myself, it is more pleasantto do business with people who are clean and healthy-looking, " sheadmitted blandly. 

Carl gave a little chuckle as he opened the Shabatas' gate for her. "Oh, do you?" he asked dryly. 

There was no sign of life about the Shabatas' house except a bigyellow cat, sunning itself on the kitchen doorstep. 

Alexandra took the path that led to the orchard. "She often sitsthere and sews. I didn't telephone her we were coming, because Ididn't want her to go to work and bake cake and freeze ice-cream. She'll always make a party if you give her the least excuse. Doyou recognize the apple trees, Carl?"

Linstrum looked about him. "I wish I had a dollar for every bucketof water I've carried for those trees. Poor father, he was aneasy man, but he was perfectly merciless when it came to wateringthe orchard. "

"That's one thing I like about Germans; they make an orchard growif they can't make anything else. I'm so glad these trees belongto some one who takes comfort in them. When I rented this place, the tenants never kept the orchard up, and Emil and I used to comeover and take care of it ourselves. It needs mowing now. Thereshe is, down in the corner. Maria-a-a!" she called. 

A recumbent figure started up from the grass and came running towardthem through the flickering screen of light and shade. 

"Look at her! Isn't she like a little brown rabbit?" Alexandralaughed. 

Maria ran up panting and threw her arms about Alexandra. "Oh, Ihad begun to think you were not coming at all, maybe. I knew youwere so busy. Yes, Emil told me about Mr. Linstrum being here. Won't you come up to the house?"

"Why not sit down there in your corner? Carl wants to see theorchard. He kept all these trees alive for years, watering themwith his own back. "

Marie turned to Carl. "Then I'm thankful to you, Mr. Linstrum. We'dnever have bought the place if it hadn't been for this orchard, andthen I wouldn't have had Alexandra, either. " She gave Alexandra'sarm a little squeeze as she walked beside her. "How nice your dresssmells, Alexandra; you put rosemary leaves in your chest, like Itold you. "

She led them to the northwest corner of the orchard, sheltered onone side by a thick mulberry hedge and bordered on the other by awheatfield, just beginning to yellow. In this corner the grounddipped a little, and the blue-grass, which the weeds had driven outin the upper part of the orchard, grew thick and luxuriant. Wildroses were flaming in the tufts of bunchgrass along the fence. Under a white mulberry tree there was an old wagon-seat. Besideit lay a book and a workbasket. 

"You must have the seat, Alexandra. The grass would stain yourdress, " the hostess insisted. She dropped down on the groundat Alexandra's side and tucked her feet under her. Carl sat ata little distance from the two women, his back to the wheatfield, and watched them. Alexandra took off her shade-hat and threw it onthe ground. Marie picked it up and played with the white ribbons, twisting them about her brown fingers as she talked. They made apretty picture in the strong sunlight, the leafy pattern surroundingthem like a net; the Swedish woman so white and gold, kindly andamused, but armored in calm, and the alert brown one, her full lipsparted, points of yellow light dancing in her eyes as she laughedand chattered. Carl had never forgotten little Marie Tovesky'seyes, and he was glad to have an opportunity to study them. Thebrown iris, he found, was curiously slashed with yellow, the colorof sunflower honey, or of old amber. In each eye one of thesestreaks must have been larger than the others, for the effect wasthat of two dancing points of light, two little yellow bubbles, such as rise in a glass of champagne. Sometimes they seemed likethe sparks from a forge. She seemed so easily excited, to kindlewith a fierce little flame if one but breathed upon her. "Whata waste, " Carl reflected. "She ought to be doing all that for asweetheart. How awkwardly things come about!"

It was not very long before Marie sprang up out of the grass again. "Wait a moment. I want to show you something. " She ran away anddisappeared behind the low-growing apple trees. 

"What a charming creature, " Carl murmured. "I don't wonder thather husband is jealous. But can't she walk? does she always run?"

Alexandra nodded. "Always. I don't see many people, but I don'tbelieve there are many like her, anywhere. "

Marie came back with a branch she had broken from an apricot tree, laden with pale yellow, pink-cheeked fruit. She dropped it besideCarl. "Did you plant those, too? They are such beautiful littletrees. "

Carl fingered the blue-green leaves, porous like blotting-paper andshaped like birch leaves, hung on waxen red stems. "Yes, I thinkI did. Are these the circus trees, Alexandra?"

"Shall I tell her about them?" Alexandra asked. "Sit down likea good girl, Marie, and don't ruin my poor hat, and I'll tell youa story. A long time ago, when Carl and I were, say, sixteen andtwelve, a circus came to Hanover and we went to town in our wagon, with Lou and Oscar, to see the parade. We hadn't money enough togo to the circus. We followed the parade out to the circus groundsand hung around until the show began and the crowd went inside thetent. Then Lou was afraid we looked foolish standing outside inthe pasture, so we went back to Hanover feeling very sad. Therewas a man in the streets selling apricots, and we had never seenany before. He had driven down from somewhere up in the Frenchcountry, and he was selling them twenty-five cents a peck. We hada little money our fathers had given us for candy, and I boughttwo pecks and Carl bought one. They cheered us a good deal, andwe saved all the seeds and planted them. Up to the time Carl wentaway, they hadn't borne at all. "

"And now he's come back to eat them, " cried Marie, nodding at Carl. "That IS a good story. I can remember you a little, Mr. Linstrum. I used to see you in Hanover sometimes, when Uncle Joe took me totown. I remember you because you were always buying pencils andtubes of paint at the drug store. Once, when my uncle left me atthe store, you drew a lot of little birds and flowers for me on apiece of wrapping-paper. I kept them for a long while. I thoughtyou were very romantic because you could draw and had such blackeyes. "

Carl smiled. "Yes, I remember that time. Your uncle bought yousome kind of a mechanical toy, a Turkish lady sitting on an ottomanand smoking a hookah, wasn't it? And she turned her head backwardsand forwards. "

"Oh, yes! Wasn't she splendid! I knew well enough I ought notto tell Uncle Joe I wanted it, for he had just come back from thesaloon and was feeling good. You remember how he laughed? Shetickled him, too. But when we got home, my aunt scolded him forbuying toys when she needed so many things. We wound our lady upevery night, and when she began to move her head my aunt used tolaugh as hard as any of us. It was a music-box, you know, and theTurkish lady played a tune while she smoked. That was how she madeyou feel so jolly. As I remember her, she was lovely, and had agold crescent on her turban. "

Half an hour later, as they were leaving the house, Carl and Alexandrawere met in the path by a strapping fellow in overalls and a blueshirt. He was breathing hard, as if he had been running, and wasmuttering to himself. 

Marie ran forward, and, taking him by the arm, gave him a littlepush toward her guests. "Frank, this is Mr. Linstrum. "

Frank took off his broad straw hat and nodded to Alexandra. Whenhe spoke to Carl, he showed a fine set of white teeth. He was burneda dull red down to his neckband, and there was a heavy three-days'stubble on his face. Even in his agitation he was handsome, buthe looked a rash and violent man. 

Barely saluting the callers, he turned at once to his wife andbegan, in an outraged tone, "I have to leave my team to drive theold woman Hiller's hogs out-a my wheat. I go to take dat old womanto de court if she ain't careful, I tell you!"

His wife spoke soothingly. "But, Frank, she has only her lame boyto help her. She does the best she can. "

Alexandra looked at the excited man and offered a suggestion. "Whydon't you go over there some afternoon and hog-tight her fences?You'd save time for yourself in the end. "

Frank's neck stiffened. "Not-a-much, I won't. I keep my hogshome. Other peoples can do like me. See? If that Louis can mendshoes, he can mend fence. "

"Maybe, " said Alexandra placidly; "but I've found it sometimes paysto mend other people's fences. Good-bye, Marie. Come to see mesoon. "

Alexandra walked firmly down the path and Carl followed her. 

Frank went into the house and threw himself on the sofa, his faceto the wall, his clenched fist on his hip. Marie, having seen herguests off, came in and put her hand coaxingly on his shoulder. 

"Poor Frank! You've run until you've made your head ache, nowhaven't you? Let me make you some coffee. "

"What else am I to do?" he cried hotly in Bohemian. "Am I to letany old woman's hogs root up my wheat? Is that what I work myselfto death for?"

"Don't worry about it, Frank. I'll speak to Mrs. Hiller again. But, really, she almost cried last time they got out, she was sosorry. "

Frank bounced over on his other side. "That's it; you always sidewith them against me. They all know it. Anybody here feels freeto borrow the mower and break it, or turn their hogs in on me. They know you won't care!"

Marie hurried away to make his coffee. When she came back, he wasfast asleep. She sat down and looked at him for a long while, verythoughtfully. When the kitchen clock struck six she went out toget supper, closing the door gently behind her. She was alwayssorry for Frank when he worked himself into one of these rages, andshe was sorry to have him rough and quarrelsome with his neighbors. She was perfectly aware that the neighbors had a good deal to putup with, and that they bore with Frank for her sake. 

VII

Marie's father, Albert Tovesky, was one of the more intelligentBohemians who came West in the early seventies. He settled in Omahaand became a leader and adviser among his people there. Marie washis youngest child, by a second wife, and was the apple of his eye. She was barely sixteen, and was in the graduating class of theOmaha High School, when Frank Shabata arrived from the old countryand set all the Bohemian girls in a flutter. He was easily thebuck of the beer-gardens, and on Sunday he was a sight to see, withhis silk hat and tucked shirt and blue frock-coat, wearing glovesand carrying a little wisp of a yellow cane. He was tall and fair, with splendid teeth and close-cropped yellow curls, and he wore aslightly disdainful expression, proper for a young man with highconnections, whose mother had a big farm in the Elbe valley. Therewas often an interesting discontent in his blue eyes, and everyBohemian girl he met imagined herself the cause of that unsatisfiedexpression. He had a way of drawing out his cambric handkerchiefslowly, by one corner, from his breast-pocket, that was melancholyand romantic in the extreme. He took a little flight with eachof the more eligible Bohemian girls, but it was when he was withlittle Marie Tovesky that he drew his handkerchief out most slowly, and, after he had lit a fresh cigar, dropped the match mostdespairingly. Any one could see, with half an eye, that his proudheart was bleeding for somebody. 

One Sunday, late in the summer after Marie's graduation, she metFrank at a Bohemian picnic down the river and went rowing with himall the afternoon. When she got home that evening she went straightto her father's room and told him that she was engaged to Shabata. Old Tovesky was having a comfortable pipe before he went to bed. When he heard his daughter's announcement, he first prudentlycorked his beer bottle and then leaped to his feet and had a turnof temper. He characterized Frank Shabata by a Bohemian expressionwhich is the equivalent of stuffed shirt. 

"Why don't he go to work like the rest of us did? His farm in theElbe valley, indeed! Ain't he got plenty brothers and sisters?It's his mother's farm, and why don't he stay at home and help her?Haven't I seen his mother out in the morning at five o'clock withher ladle and her big bucket on wheels, putting liquid manure onthe cabbages? Don't I know the look of old Eva Shabata's hands?Like an old horse's hoofs they are--and this fellow wearing glovesand rings! Engaged, indeed! You aren't fit to be out of school, and that's what's the matter with you. I will send you off to theSisters of the Sacred Heart in St. Louis, and they will teach yousome sense, _I_ guess!"

Accordingly, the very next week, Albert Tovesky took his daughter, pale and tearful, down the river to the convent. But the way tomake Frank want anything was to tell him he couldn't have it. Hemanaged to have an interview with Marie before she went away, and whereas he had been only half in love with her before, he nowpersuaded himself that he would not stop at anything. Marie tookwith her to the convent, under the canvas lining of her trunk, theresults of a laborious and satisfying morning on Frank's part; noless than a dozen photographs of himself, taken in a dozen differentlove-lorn attitudes. There was a little round photograph for herwatch-case, photographs for her wall and dresser, and even longnarrow ones to be used as bookmarks. More than once the handsomegentleman was torn to pieces before the French class by an indignantnun. 

Marie pined in the convent for a year, until her eighteenth birthdaywas passed. Then she met Frank Shabata in the Union Station inSt. Louis and ran away with him. Old Tovesky forgave his daughterbecause there was nothing else to do, and bought her a farm inthe country that she had loved so well as a child. Since then herstory had been a part of the history of the Divide. She and Frankhad been living there for five years when Carl Linstrum came backto pay his long deferred visit to Alexandra. Frank had, on thewhole, done better than one might have expected. He had flunghimself at the soil with savage energy. Once a year he went toHastings or to Omaha, on a spree. He stayed away for a week ortwo, and then came home and worked like a demon. He did work; ifhe felt sorry for himself, that was his own affair. 

VIII

On the evening of the day of Alexandra's call at the Shabatas', a heavy rain set in. Frank sat up until a late hour reading theSunday newspapers. One of the Goulds was getting a divorce, andFrank took it as a personal affront. In printing the story of theyoung man's marital troubles, the knowing editor gave a sufficientlycolored account of his career, stating the amount of his incomeand the manner in which he was supposed to spend it. Frank readEnglish slowly, and the more he read about this divorce case, theangrier he grew. At last he threw down the page with a snort. Heturned to his farm-hand who was reading the other half of the paper. 

"By God! if I have that young feller in de hayfield once, I showhim someting. Listen here what he do wit his money. " And Frankbegan the catalogue of the young man's reputed extravagances. 

Marie sighed. She thought it hard that the Goulds, for whom shehad nothing but good will, should make her so much trouble. Shehated to see the Sunday newspapers come into the house. Frank wasalways reading about the doings of rich people and feeling outraged. He had an inexhaustible stock of stories about their crimes andfollies, how they bribed the courts and shot down their butlerswith impunity whenever they chose. Frank and Lou Bergson had verysimilar ideas, and they were two of the political agitators of thecounty. 

The next morning broke clear and brilliant, but Frank said theground was too wet to plough, so he took the cart and drove over toSainte-Agnes to spend the day at Moses Marcel's saloon. After hewas gone, Marie went out to the back porch to begin her butter-making. A brisk wind had come up and was driving puffy white clouds acrossthe sky. The orchard was sparkling and rippling in the sun. Mariestood looking toward it wistfully, her hand on the lid of thechurn, when she heard a sharp ring in the air, the merry sound ofthe whetstone on the scythe. That invitation decided her. She raninto the house, put on a short skirt and a pair of her husband'sboots, caught up a tin pail and started for the orchard. Emilhad already begun work and was mowing vigorously. When he saw hercoming, he stopped and wiped his brow. His yellow canvas leggingsand khaki trousers were splashed to the knees. 

"Don't let me disturb you, Emil. I'm going to pick cherries. Isn't everything beautiful after the rain? Oh, but I'm glad to getthis place mowed! When I heard it raining in the night, I thoughtmaybe you would come and do it for me to-day. The wind wakenedme. Didn't it blow dreadfully? Just smell the wild roses! Theyare always so spicy after a rain. We never had so many of themin here before. I suppose it's the wet season. Will you have tocut them, too?"

"If I cut the grass, I will, " Emil said teasingly. "What's thematter with you? What makes you so flighty?"

"Am I flighty? I suppose that's the wet season, too, then. It'sexciting to see everything growing so fast, --and to get the grasscut! Please leave the roses till last, if you must cut them. Oh, I don't mean all of them, I mean that low place down by my tree, wherethere are so many. Aren't you splashed! Look at the spider-websall over the grass. Good-bye. I'll call you if I see a snake. "

She tripped away and Emil stood looking after her. In a few momentshe heard the cherries dropping smartly into the pail, and he beganto swing his scythe with that long, even stroke that few Americanboys ever learn. Marie picked cherries and sang softly to herself, stripping one glittering branch after another, shivering when shecaught a shower of raindrops on her neck and hair. And Emil mowedhis way slowly down toward the cherry trees. 

That summer the rains had been so many and opportune that it wasalmost more than Shabata and his man could do to keep up with thecorn; the orchard was a neglected wilderness. All sorts of weeds andherbs and flowers had grown up there; splotches of wild larkspur, pale green-and-white spikes of hoarhound, plantations of wildcotton, tangles of foxtail and wild wheat. South of the apricottrees, cornering on the wheatfield, was Frank's alfalfa, wheremyriads of white and yellow butterflies were always flutteringabove the purple blossoms. When Emil reached the lower corner bythe hedge, Marie was sitting under her white mulberry tree, thepailful of cherries beside her, looking off at the gentle, tirelessswelling of the wheat. 

"Emil, " she said suddenly--he was mowing quietly about under thetree so as not to disturb her--"what religion did the Swedes haveaway back, before they were Christians?"

Emil paused and straightened his back. "I don't know. About likethe Germans', wasn't it?"

Marie went on as if she had not heard him. "The Bohemians, youknow, were tree worshipers before the missionaries came. Father saysthe people in the mountains still do queer things, sometimes, --theybelieve that trees bring good or bad luck. "

Emil looked superior. "Do they? Well, which are the lucky trees?I'd like to know. "

"I don't know all of them, but I know lindens are. The old peoplein the mountains plant lindens to purify the forest, and to do awaywith the spells that come from the old trees they say have lastedfrom heathen times. I'm a good Catholic, but I think I could getalong with caring for trees, if I hadn't anything else. "

"That's a poor saying, " said Emil, stooping over to wipe his handsin the wet grass. 

"Why is it? If I feel that way, I feel that way. I like treesbecause they seem more resigned to the way they have to live thanother things do. I feel as if this tree knows everything I everthink of when I sit here. When I come back to it, I never have toremind it of anything; I begin just where I left off. "

Emil had nothing to say to this. He reached up among the branchesand began to pick the sweet, insipid fruit, --long ivory-coloredberries, tipped with faint pink, like white coral, that fall tothe ground unheeded all summer through. He dropped a handful intoher lap. 

"Do you like Mr. Linstrum?" Marie asked suddenly. 

"Yes. Don't you?"

"Oh, ever so much; only he seems kind of staid and school-teachery. But, of course, he is older than Frank, even. I'm sure I don'twant to live to be more than thirty, do you? Do you think Alexandralikes him very much?"

"I suppose so. They were old friends. "

"Oh, Emil, you know what I mean!" Marie tossed her head impatiently. "Does she really care about him? When she used to tell me abouthim, I always wondered whether she wasn't a little in love withhim. "

"Who, Alexandra?" Emil laughed and thrust his hands into histrousers pockets. "Alexandra's never been in love, you crazy!" Helaughed again. "She wouldn't know how to go about it. The idea!"

Marie shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, you don't know Alexandra as wellas you think you do! If you had any eyes, you would see that sheis very fond of him. It would serve you all right if she walkedoff with Carl. I like him because he appreciates her more thanyou do. "

Emil frowned. "What are you talking about, Marie? Alexandra'sall right. She and I have always been good friends. What more doyou want? I like to talk to Carl about New York and what a fellowcan do there. "

"Oh, Emil! Surely you are not thinking of going off there?"

"Why not? I must go somewhere, mustn't I?" The young man took uphis scythe and leaned on it. "Would you rather I went off in thesand hills and lived like Ivar?"

Marie's face fell under his brooding gaze. She looked down at hiswet leggings. "I'm sure Alexandra hopes you will stay on here, "she murmured. 

"Then Alexandra will be disappointed, " the young man said roughly. "What do I want to hang around here for? Alexandra can run thefarm all right, without me. I don't want to stand around and lookon. I want to be doing something on my own account. "

"That's so, " Marie sighed. "There are so many, many things youcan do. Almost anything you choose. "

"And there are so many, many things I can't do. " Emil echoed hertone sarcastically. "Sometimes I don't want to do anything atall, and sometimes I want to pull the four corners of the Dividetogether, "--he threw out his arm and brought it back with a jerk, --"so, like a table-cloth. I get tired of seeing men and horses going upand down, up and down. "

Marie looked up at his defiant figure and her face clouded. "I wishyou weren't so restless, and didn't get so worked up over things, "she said sadly. 

"Thank you, " he returned shortly. 

She sighed despondently. "Everything I say makes you cross, don'tit? And you never used to be cross to me. "

Emil took a step nearer and stood frowning down at her bent head. He stood in an attitude of self-defense, his feet well apart, hishands clenched and drawn up at his sides, so that the cords stoodout on his bare arms. "I can't play with you like a little boyany more, " he said slowly. "That's what you miss, Marie. You'llhave to get some other little boy to play with. " He stopped and tooka deep breath. Then he went on in a low tone, so intense that itwas almost threatening: "Sometimes you seem to understand perfectly, and then sometimes you pretend you don't. You don't help thingsany by pretending. It's then that I want to pull the corners ofthe Divide together. If you WON'T understand, you know, I couldmake you!"

Marie clasped her hands and started up from her seat. She had grownvery pale and her eyes were shining with excitement and distress. "But, Emil, if I understand, then all our good times are over, wecan never do nice things together any more. We shall have to behavelike Mr. Linstrum. And, anyhow, there's nothing to understand!"She struck the ground with her little foot fiercely. "That won'tlast. It will go away, and things will be just as they used to. I wish you were a Catholic. The Church helps people, indeed itdoes. I pray for you, but that's not the same as if you prayedyourself. "

She spoke rapidly and pleadingly, looked entreatingly into hisface. Emil stood defiant, gazing down at her. 

"I can't pray to have the things I want, " he said slowly, "and Iwon't pray not to have them, not if I'm damned for it. "

Marie turned away, wringing her hands. "Oh, Emil, you won't try!Then all our good times are over. "

"Yes; over. I never expect to have any more. "

Emil gripped the hand-holds of his scythe and began to mow. Marietook up her cherries and went slowly toward the house, cryingbitterly. 

IX

On Sunday afternoon, a month after Carl Linstrum's arrival, he rodewith Emil up into the French country to attend a Catholic fair. Hesat for most of the afternoon in the basement of the church, wherethe fair was held, talking to Marie Shabata, or strolled about thegravel terrace, thrown up on the hillside in front of the basementdoors, where the French boys were jumping and wrestling and throwingthe discus. Some of the boys were in their white baseball suits;they had just come up from a Sunday practice game down in theballgrounds. Amedee, the newly married, Emil's best friend, wastheir pitcher, renowned among the country towns for his dash andskill. Amedee was a little fellow, a year younger than Emil andmuch more boyish in appearance; very lithe and active and neatlymade, with a clear brown and white skin, and flashing white teeth. The Sainte-Agnes boys were to play the Hastings nine in a fortnight, and Amedee's lightning balls were the hope of his team. The littleFrenchman seemed to get every ounce there was in him behind theball as it left his hand. 

"You'd have made the battery at the University for sure, 'Medee, "Emil said as they were walking from the ball-grounds back to thechurch on the hill. "You're pitching better than you did in thespring. "

Amedee grinned. "Sure! A married man don't lose his head no more. "He slapped Emil on the back as he caught step with him. "Oh, Emil, you wanna get married right off quick! It's the greatest thingever!"

Emil laughed. "How am I going to get married without any girl?"

Amedee took his arm. "Pooh! There are plenty girls will haveyou. You wanna get some nice French girl, now. She treat you well;always be jolly. See, "--he began checking off on his fingers, --"thereis Severine, and Alphosen, and Josephine, and Hectorine, and Louise, and Malvina--why, I could love any of them girls! Why don't youget after them? Are you stuck up, Emil, or is anything the matterwith you? I never did know a boy twenty-two years old before thatdidn't have no girl. You wanna be a priest, maybe? Not-a for me!"Amedee swaggered. "I bring many good Catholics into this world, I hope, and that's a way I help the Church. "

Emil looked down and patted him on the shoulder. "Now you're windy, 'Medee. You Frenchies like to brag. "

But Amedee had the zeal of the newly married, and he was notto be lightly shaken off. "Honest and true, Emil, don't you wantANY girl? Maybe there's some young lady in Lincoln, now, verygrand, "--Amedee waved his hand languidly before his face to denotethe fan of heartless beauty, --"and you lost your heart up there. Is that it?"

"Maybe, " said Emil. 

But Amedee saw no appropriate glow in his friend's face. "Bah!"he exclaimed in disgust. "I tell all the French girls to keep 'wayfrom you. You gotta rock in there, " thumping Emil on the ribs. 

When they reached the terrace at the side of the church, Amedee, who was excited by his success on the ball-grounds, challengedEmil to a jumping-match, though he knew he would be beaten. Theybelted themselves up, and Raoul Marcel, the choir tenor and FatherDuchesne's pet, and Jean Bordelau, held the string over which theyvaulted. All the French boys stood round, cheering and humpingthemselves up when Emil or Amedee went over the wire, as if theywere helping in the lift. Emil stopped at five-feet-five, declaringthat he would spoil his appetite for supper if he jumped any more. 

Angelique, Amedee's pretty bride, as blonde and fair as her name, who had come out to watch the match, tossed her head at Emil andsaid:--

"'Medee could jump much higher than you if he were as tall. Andanyhow, he is much more graceful. He goes over like a bird, andyou have to hump yourself all up. "

"Oh, I do, do I?" Emil caught her and kissed her saucy mouth squarely, while she laughed and struggled and called, "'Medee! 'Medee!"

"There, you see your 'Medee isn't even big enough to get you awayfrom me. I could run away with you right now and he could onlysit down and cry about it. I'll show you whether I have to humpmyself!" Laughing and panting, he picked Angelique up in his armsand began running about the rectangle with her. Not until he sawMarie Shabata's tiger eyes flashing from the gloom of the basementdoorway did he hand the disheveled bride over to her husband. "There, go to your graceful; I haven't the heart to take you awayfrom him. "

Angelique clung to her husband and made faces at Emil over thewhite shoulder of Amedee's ball-shirt. Emil was greatly amused ather air of proprietorship and at Amedee's shameless submission toit. He was delighted with his friend's good fortune. He liked tosee and to think about Amedee's sunny, natural, happy love. 

He and Amedee had ridden and wrestled and larked together sincethey were lads of twelve. On Sundays and holidays they were alwaysarm in arm. It seemed strange that now he should have to hide thething that Amedee was so proud of, that the feeling which gave oneof them such happiness should bring the other such despair. Itwas like that when Alexandra tested her seed-corn in the spring, he mused. From two ears that had grown side by side, the grainsof one shot up joyfully into the light, projecting themselves intothe future, and the grains from the other lay still in the earthand rotted; and nobody knew why. 

X

While Emil and Carl were amusing themselves at the fair, Alexandrawas at home, busy with her account-books, which had been neglectedof late. She was almost through with her figures when she hearda cart drive up to the gate, and looking out of the window she sawher two older brothers. They had seemed to avoid her ever sinceCarl Linstrum's arrival, four weeks ago that day, and she hurriedto the door to welcome them. She saw at once that they had comewith some very definite purpose. They followed her stiffly intothe sitting-room. Oscar sat down, but Lou walked over to the windowand remained standing, his hands behind him. 

"You are by yourself?" he asked, looking toward the doorway intothe parlor. 

"Yes. Carl and Emil went up to the Catholic fair. "

For a few moments neither of the men spoke. 

Then Lou came out sharply. "How soon does he intend to go awayfrom here?"

"I don't know, Lou. Not for some time, I hope. " Alexandra spokein an even, quiet tone that often exasperated her brothers. Theyfelt that she was trying to be superior with them. 

Oscar spoke up grimly. "We thought we ought to tell you that peoplehave begun to talk, " he said meaningly. 

Alexandra looked at him. "What about?"

Oscar met her eyes blankly. "About you, keeping him here so long. It looks bad for him to be hanging on to a woman this way. Peoplethink you're getting taken in. "

Alexandra shut her account-book firmly. "Boys, " she said seriously, "don't let's go on with this. We won't come out anywhere. I can'ttake advice on such a matter. I know you mean well, but you mustnot feel responsible for me in things of this sort. If we go onwith this talk it will only make hard feeling. "

Lou whipped about from the window. "You ought to think a littleabout your family. You're making us all ridiculous. "

"How am I?"

"People are beginning to say you want to marry the fellow. "

"Well, and what is ridiculous about that?"

Lou and Oscar exchanged outraged looks. "Alexandra! Can't yousee he's just a tramp and he's after your money? He wants to betaken care of, he does!"

"Well, suppose I want to take care of him? Whose business is itbut my own?"

"Don't you know he'd get hold of your property?"

"He'd get hold of what I wished to give him, certainly. "

Oscar sat up suddenly and Lou clutched at his bristly hair. 

"Give him?" Lou shouted. "Our property, our homestead?"

"I don't know about the homestead, " said Alexandra quietly. "Iknow you and Oscar have always expected that it would be left toyour children, and I'm not sure but what you're right. But I'lldo exactly as I please with the rest of my land, boys. "

"The rest of your land!" cried Lou, growing more excited everyminute. "Didn't all the land come out of the homestead? It wasbought with money borrowed on the homestead, and Oscar and me workedourselves to the bone paying interest on it. "

"Yes, you paid the interest. But when you married we made a divisionof the land, and you were satisfied. I've made more on my farmssince I've been alone than when we all worked together. "

"Everything you've made has come out of the original land that usboys worked for, hasn't it? The farms and all that comes out ofthem belongs to us as a family. "

Alexandra waved her hand impatiently. "Come now, Lou. Stick tothe facts. You are talking nonsense. Go to the county clerk andask him who owns my land, and whether my titles are good. "

Lou turned to his brother. "This is what comes of letting a womanmeddle in business, " he said bitterly. "We ought to have takenthings in our own hands years ago. But she liked to run things, and we humored her. We thought you had good sense, Alexandra. Wenever thought you'd do anything foolish. "

Alexandra rapped impatiently on her desk with her knuckles. "Listen, Lou. Don't talk wild. You say you ought to have takenthings into your own hands years ago. I suppose you mean beforeyou left home. But how could you take hold of what wasn't there?I've got most of what I have now since we divided the property;I've built it up myself, and it has nothing to do with you. "

Oscar spoke up solemnly. "The property of a family really belongsto the men of the family, no matter about the title. If anythinggoes wrong, it's the men that are held responsible. "

"Yes, of course, " Lou broke in. "Everybody knows that. Oscar andme have always been easy-going and we've never made any fuss. Wewere willing you should hold the land and have the good of it, butyou got no right to part with any of it. We worked in the fieldsto pay for the first land you bought, and whatever's come out ofit has got to be kept in the family. "

Oscar reinforced his brother, his mind fixed on the one point hecould see. "The property of a family belongs to the men of thefamily, because they are held responsible, and because they do thework. "

Alexandra looked from one to the other, her eyes full of indignation. She had been impatient before, but now she was beginning to feelangry. "And what about my work?" she asked in an unsteady voice. 

Lou looked at the carpet. "Oh, now, Alexandra, you always tookit pretty easy! Of course we wanted you to. You liked to manageround, and we always humored you. We realize you were a greatdeal of help to us. There's no woman anywhere around that knowsas much about business as you do, and we've always been proud ofthat, and thought you were pretty smart. But, of course, the realwork always fell on us. Good advice is all right, but it don'tget the weeds out of the corn. "

"Maybe not, but it sometimes puts in the crop, and it sometimeskeeps the fields for corn to grow in, " said Alexandra dryly. "Why, Lou, I can remember when you and Oscar wanted to sell this homesteadand all the improvements to old preacher Ericson for two thousanddollars. If I'd consented, you'd have gone down to the river andscraped along on poor farms for the rest of your lives. When I putin our first field of alfalfa you both opposed me, just because Ifirst heard about it from a young man who had been to the University. You said I was being taken in then, and all the neighbors saidso. You know as well as I do that alfalfa has been the salvationof this country. You all laughed at me when I said our land herewas about ready for wheat, and I had to raise three big wheat cropsbefore the neighbors quit putting all their land in corn. Why, Iremember you cried, Lou, when we put in the first big wheat-planting, and said everybody was laughing at us. "

Lou turned to Oscar. "That's the woman of it; if she tells you toput in a crop, she thinks she's put it in. It makes women conceitedto meddle in business. I shouldn't think you'd want to remind ushow hard you were on us, Alexandra, after the way you baby Emil. "

"Hard on you? I never meant to be hard. Conditions were hard. Maybe I would never have been very soft, anyhow; but I certainlydidn't choose to be the kind of girl I was. If you take even avine and cut it back again and again, it grows hard, like a tree. "

Lou felt that they were wandering from the point, and thatin digression Alexandra might unnerve him. He wiped his foreheadwith a jerk of his handkerchief. "We never doubted you, Alexandra. We never questioned anything you did. You've always had your ownway. But you can't expect us to sit like stumps and see you doneout of the property by any loafer who happens along, and makingyourself ridiculous into the bargain. "

Oscar rose. "Yes, " he broke in, "everybody's laughing to see youget took in; at your age, too. Everybody knows he's nearly fiveyears younger than you, and is after your money. Why, Alexandra, you are forty years old!"

"All that doesn't concern anybody but Carl and me. Go to town andask your lawyers what you can do to restrain me from disposing ofmy own property. And I advise you to do what they tell you; forthe authority you can exert by law is the only influence you willever have over me again. " Alexandra rose. "I think I would rathernot have lived to find out what I have to-day, " she said quietly, closing her desk. 

Lou and Oscar looked at each other questioningly. There seemed tobe nothing to do but to go, and they walked out. 

"You can't do business with women, " Oscar said heavily as heclambered into the cart. "But anyhow, we've had our say, at last. "

Lou scratched his head. "Talk of that kind might come too high, youknow; but she's apt to be sensible. You hadn't ought to said thatabout her age, though, Oscar. I'm afraid that hurt her feelings;and the worst thing we can do is to make her sore at us. She'dmarry him out of contrariness. "

"I only meant, " said Oscar, "that she is old enough to know better, and she is. If she was going to marry, she ought to done it longago, and not go making a fool of herself now. "

Lou looked anxious, nevertheless. "Of course, " he reflected hopefullyand inconsistently, "Alexandra ain't much like other women-folks. Maybe it won't make her sore. Maybe she'd as soon be forty asnot!"

XI

Emil came home at about half-past seven o'clock that evening. OldIvar met him at the windmill and took his horse, and the youngman went directly into the house. He called to his sister and sheanswered from her bedroom, behind the sitting-room, saying thatshe was lying down. 

Emil went to her door. 

"Can I see you for a minute?" he asked. "I want to talk to youabout something before Carl comes. "

Alexandra rose quickly and came to the door. "Where is Carl?"

"Lou and Oscar met us and said they wanted to talk to him, so herode over to Oscar's with them. Are you coming out?" Emil askedimpatiently. 

"Yes, sit down. I'll be dressed in a moment. "

Alexandra closed her door, and Emil sank down on the old slat loungeand sat with his head in his hands. When his sister came out, helooked up, not knowing whether the interval had been short or long, and he was surprised to see that the room had grown quite dark. That was just as well; it would be easier to talk if he were notunder the gaze of those clear, deliberate eyes, that saw so far insome directions and were so blind in others. Alexandra, too, wasglad of the dusk. Her face was swollen from crying. 

Emil started up and then sat down again. "Alexandra, " he saidslowly, in his deep young baritone, "I don't want to go away tolaw school this fall. Let me put it off another year. I want totake a year off and look around. It's awfully easy to rush intoa profession you don't really like, and awfully hard to get out ofit. Linstrum and I have been talking about that. "

"Very well, Emil. Only don't go off looking for land. " She cameup and put her hand on his shoulder. "I've been wishing you couldstay with me this winter. "

"That's just what I don't want to do, Alexandra. I'm restless. I want to go to a new place. I want to go down to the City ofMexico to join one of the University fellows who's at the head ofan electrical plant. He wrote me he could give me a little job, enough to pay my way, and I could look around and see what I wantto do. I want to go as soon as harvest is over. I guess Lou andOscar will be sore about it. "

"I suppose they will. " Alexandra sat down on the lounge besidehim. "They are very angry with me, Emil. We have had a quarrel. They will not come here again. "

Emil scarcely heard what she was saying; he did not notice thesadness of her tone. He was thinking about the reckless life hemeant to live in Mexico. 

"What about?" he asked absently. 

"About Carl Linstrum. They are afraid I am going to marry him, and that some of my property will get away from them. "

Emil shrugged his shoulders. "What nonsense!" he murmured. "Justlike them. "

Alexandra drew back. "Why nonsense, Emil?"

"Why, you've never thought of such a thing, have you? They alwayshave to have something to fuss about. "

"Emil, " said his sister slowly, "you ought not to take things forgranted. Do you agree with them that I have no right to change myway of living?"

Emil looked at the outline of his sister's head in the dim light. They were sitting close together and he somehow felt that shecould hear his thoughts. He was silent for a moment, and then saidin an embarrassed tone, "Why, no, certainly not. You ought to dowhatever you want to. I'll always back you. "

"But it would seem a little bit ridiculous to you if I marriedCarl?"

Emil fidgeted. The issue seemed to him too far-fetched to warrantdiscussion. "Why, no. I should be surprised if you wanted to. Ican't see exactly why. But that's none of my business. You oughtto do as you please. Certainly you ought not to pay any attentionto what the boys say. "

Alexandra sighed. "I had hoped you might understand, a little, why I do want to. But I suppose that's too much to expect. I'vehad a pretty lonely life, Emil. Besides Marie, Carl is the onlyfriend I have ever had. "

Emil was awake now; a name in her last sentence roused him. Heput out his hand and took his sister's awkwardly. "You ought todo just as you wish, and I think Carl's a fine fellow. He and Iwould always get on. I don't believe any of the things the boyssay about him, honest I don't. They are suspicious of him becausehe's intelligent. You know their way. They've been sore at meever since you let me go away to college. They're always trying tocatch me up. If I were you, I wouldn't pay any attention to them. There's nothing to get upset about. Carl's a sensible fellow. Hewon't mind them. "

"I don't know. If they talk to him the way they did to me, I thinkhe'll go away. "

Emil grew more and more uneasy. "Think so? Well, Marie said itwould serve us all right if you walked off with him. "

"Did she? Bless her little heart! SHE would. " Alexandra's voicebroke. 

Emil began unlacing his leggings. "Why don't you talk to her aboutit? There's Carl, I hear his horse. I guess I'll go upstairs andget my boots off. No, I don't want any supper. We had supper atfive o'clock, at the fair. "

Emil was glad to escape and get to his own room. He was a littleashamed for his sister, though he had tried not to show it. Hefelt that there was something indecorous in her proposal, and shedid seem to him somewhat ridiculous. There was trouble enough inthe world, he reflected, as he threw himself upon his bed, withoutpeople who were forty years old imagining they wanted to getmarried. In the darkness and silence Emil was not likely to thinklong about Alexandra. Every image slipped away but one. He hadseen Marie in the crowd that afternoon. She sold candy at thefair. WHY had she ever run away with Frank Shabata, and how couldshe go on laughing and working and taking an interest in things?Why did she like so many people, and why had she seemed pleased whenall the French and Bohemian boys, and the priest himself, crowdedround her candy stand? Why did she care about any one but him? Whycould he never, never find the thing he looked for in her playful, affectionate eyes?

Then he fell to imagining that he looked once more and found itthere, and what it would be like if she loved him, --she who, asAlexandra said, could give her whole heart. In that dream he couldlie for hours, as if in a trance. His spirit went out of his bodyand crossed the fields to Marie Shabata. 

At the University dances the girls had often looked wonderinglyat the tall young Swede with the fine head, leaning against thewall and frowning, his arms folded, his eyes fixed on the ceilingor the floor. All the girls were a little afraid of him. He wasdistinguished-looking, and not the jollying kind. They felt thathe was too intense and preoccupied. There was something queer abouthim. Emil's fraternity rather prided itself upon its dances, andsometimes he did his duty and danced every dance. But whether hewas on the floor or brooding in a corner, he was always thinkingabout Marie Shabata. For two years the storm had been gatheringin him. 

XII

Carl came into the sitting-room while Alexandra was lighting thelamp. She looked up at him as she adjusted the shade. His sharpshoulders stooped as if he were very tired, his face was pale, and there were bluish shadows under his dark eyes. His anger hadburned itself out and left him sick and disgusted. 

"You have seen Lou and Oscar?" Alexandra asked. 

"Yes. " His eyes avoided hers. 

Alexandra took a deep breath. "And now you are going away. Ithought so. "

Carl threw himself into a chair and pushed the dark lock backfrom his forehead with his white, nervous hand. "What a hopelessposition you are in, Alexandra!" he exclaimed feverishly. "It isyour fate to be always surrounded by little men. And I am no betterthan the rest. I am too little to face the criticism of even suchmen as Lou and Oscar. Yes, I am going away; to-morrow. I cannoteven ask you to give me a promise until I have something to offeryou. I thought, perhaps, I could do that; but I find I can't. "

"What good comes of offering people things they don't need?"Alexandra asked sadly. "I don't need money. But I have neededyou for a great many years. I wonder why I have been permitted toprosper, if it is only to take my friends away from me. "

"I don't deceive myself, " Carl said frankly. "I know that I amgoing away on my own account. I must make the usual effort. Imust have something to show for myself. To take what you wouldgive me, I should have to be either a very large man or a verysmall one, and I am only in the middle class. "

Alexandra sighed. "I have a feeling that if you go away, you willnot come back. Something will happen to one of us, or to both. People have to snatch at happiness when they can, in this world. It is always easier to lose than to find. What I have is yours, if you care enough about me to take it. "

Carl rose and looked up at the picture of John Bergson. "But Ican't, my dear, I can't! I will go North at once. Instead of idlingabout in California all winter, I shall be getting my bearings upthere. I won't waste another week. Be patient with me, Alexandra. Give me a year!"

"As you will, " said Alexandra wearily. "All at once, in a singleday, I lose everything; and I do not know why. Emil, too, is goingaway. " Carl was still studying John Bergson's face and Alexandra'seyes followed his. "Yes, " she said, "if he could have seen allthat would come of the task he gave me, he would have been sorry. I hope he does not see me now. I hope that he is among the oldpeople of his blood and country, and that tidings do not reach himfrom the New World. "

PART III. Winter Memories

I

Winter has settled down over the Divide again; the season inwhich Nature recuperates, in which she sinks to sleep between thefruitfulness of autumn and the passion of spring. The birds havegone. The teeming life that goes on down in the long grass isexterminated. The prairie-dog keeps his hole. The rabbits runshivering from one frozen garden patch to another and are hard putto it to find frost-bitten cabbage-stalks. At night the coyotesroam the wintry waste, howling for food. The variegated fieldsare all one color now; the pastures, the stubble, the roads, thesky are the same leaden gray. The hedgerows and trees are scarcelyperceptible against the bare earth, whose slaty hue they have takenon. The ground is frozen so hard that it bruises the foot to walkin the roads or in the ploughed fields. It is like an iron country, and the spirit is oppressed by its rigor and melancholy. One couldeasily believe that in that dead landscape the germs of life andfruitfulness were extinct forever. 

Alexandra has settled back into her old routine. There are weeklyletters from Emil. Lou and Oscar she has not seen since Carlwent away. To avoid awkward encounters in the presence of curiousspectators, she has stopped going to the Norwegian Church and drivesup to the Reform Church at Hanover, or goes with Marie Shabata tothe Catholic Church, locally known as "the French Church. " She hasnot told Marie about Carl, or her differences with her brothers. She was never very communicative about her own affairs, and whenshe came to the point, an instinct told her that about such thingsshe and Marie would not understand one another. 

Old Mrs. Lee had been afraid that family misunderstandings mightdeprive her of her yearly visit to Alexandra. But on the first dayof December Alexandra telephoned Annie that to-morrow she wouldsend Ivar over for her mother, and the next day the old lady arrivedwith her bundles. For twelve years Mrs. Lee had always enteredAlexandra's sitting-room with the same exclamation, "Now we be yust-alike old times!" She enjoyed the liberty Alexandra gave her, andhearing her own language about her all day long. Here she couldwear her nightcap and sleep with all her windows shut, listento Ivar reading the Bible, and here she could run about among thestables in a pair of Emil's old boots. Though she was bent almostdouble, she was as spry as a gopher. Her face was as brown as ifit had been varnished, and as full of wrinkles as a washerwoman'shands. She had three jolly old teeth left in the front of hermouth, and when she grinned she looked very knowing, as if whenyou found out how to take it, life wasn't half bad. While she andAlexandra patched and pieced and quilted, she talked incessantlyabout stories she read in a Swedish family paper, telling the plotsin great detail; or about her life on a dairy farm in Gottlandwhen she was a girl. Sometimes she forgot which were the printedstories and which were the real stories, it all seemed so far away. She loved to take a little brandy, with hot water and sugar, beforeshe went to bed, and Alexandra always had it ready for her. "Itsends good dreams, " she would say with a twinkle in her eye. 

When Mrs. Lee had been with Alexandra for a week, Marie Shabatatelephoned one morning to say that Frank had gone to town for theday, and she would like them to come over for coffee in the afternoon. Mrs. Lee hurried to wash out and iron her new cross-stitched apron, which she had finished only the night before; a checked ginghamapron worked with a design ten inches broad across the bottom;a hunting scene, with fir trees and a stag and dogs and huntsmen. Mrs. Lee was firm with herself at dinner, and refused a secondhelping of apple dumplings. "I ta-ank I save up, " she said witha giggle. 

At two o'clock in the afternoon Alexandra's cart drove up to theShabatas' gate, and Marie saw Mrs. Lee's red shawl come bobbing upthe path. She ran to the door and pulled the old woman into thehouse with a hug, helping her to take off her wraps while Alexandrablanketed the horse outside. Mrs. Lee had put on her best blacksatine dress--she abominated woolen stuffs, even in winter--anda crocheted collar, fastened with a big pale gold pin, containingfaded daguerreotypes of her father and mother. She had not wornher apron for fear of rumpling it, and now she shook it out andtied it round her waist with a conscious air. Marie drew back andthrew up her hands, exclaiming, "Oh, what a beauty! I've neverseen this one before, have I, Mrs. Lee?"

The old woman giggled and ducked her head. "No, yust las' night Ima-ake. See dis tread; verra strong, no wa-ash out, no fade. Mysister send from Sveden. I yust-a ta-ank you like dis. "

Marie ran to the door again. "Come in, Alexandra. I have beenlooking at Mrs. Lee's apron. Do stop on your way home and show itto Mrs. Hiller. She's crazy about cross-stitch. "

While Alexandra removed her hat and veil, Mrs. Lee went out to thekitchen and settled herself in a wooden rocking-chair by the stove, looking with great interest at the table, set for three, with a whitecloth, and a pot of pink geraniums in the middle. "My, a-an't yougotta fine plants; such-a much flower. How you keep from freeze?"

She pointed to the window-shelves, full of blooming fuchsias andgeraniums. 

"I keep the fire all night, Mrs. Lee, and when it's very cold I putthem all on the table, in the middle of the room. Other nights Ionly put newspapers behind them. Frank laughs at me for fussing, but when they don't bloom he says, 'What's the matter with thedarned things?'--What do you hear from Carl, Alexandra?"

"He got to Dawson before the river froze, and now I suppose I won'thear any more until spring. Before he left California he sent mea box of orange flowers, but they didn't keep very well. I havebrought a bunch of Emil's letters for you. " Alexandra came outfrom the sitting-room and pinched Marie's cheek playfully. "Youdon't look as if the weather ever froze you up. Never have colds, do you? That's a good girl. She had dark red cheeks like thiswhen she was a little girl, Mrs. Lee. She looked like some queerforeign kind of a doll. I've never forgot the first time I sawyou in Mieklejohn's store, Marie, the time father was lying sick. Carl and I were talking about that before he went away. "

"I remember, and Emil had his kitten along. When are you going tosend Emil's Christmas box?"

"It ought to have gone before this. I'll have to send it by mailnow, to get it there in time. "

Marie pulled a dark purple silk necktie from her workbasket. "Iknit this for him. It's a good color, don't you think? Will youplease put it in with your things and tell him it's from me, towear when he goes serenading. "

Alexandra laughed. "I don't believe he goes serenading much. Hesays in one letter that the Mexican ladies are said to be verybeautiful, but that don't seem to me very warm praise. "

Marie tossed her head. "Emil can't fool me. If he's bought aguitar, he goes serenading. Who wouldn't, with all those Spanishgirls dropping flowers down from their windows! I'd sing to themevery night, wouldn't you, Mrs. Lee?"

The old lady chuckled. Her eyes lit up as Marie bent down andopened the oven door. A delicious hot fragrance blew out into thetidy kitchen. "My, somet'ing smell good!" She turned to Alexandrawith a wink, her three yellow teeth making a brave show, "I ta-ankdat stop my yaw from ache no more!" she said contentedly. 

Marie took out a pan of delicate little rolls, stuffed with stewedapricots, and began to dust them over with powdered sugar. "I hopeyou'll like these, Mrs. Lee; Alexandra does. The Bohemians alwayslike them with their coffee. But if you don't, I have a coffee-cakewith nuts and poppy seeds. Alexandra, will you get the cream jug?I put it in the window to keep cool. "

"The Bohemians, " said Alexandra, as they drew up to the table, "certainly know how to make more kinds of bread than any otherpeople in the world. Old Mrs. Hiller told me once at the churchsupper that she could make seven kinds of fancy bread, but Mariecould make a dozen. "

Mrs. Lee held up one of the apricot rolls between her brown thumband forefinger and weighed it critically. "Yust like-a fedders, "she pronounced with satisfaction. "My, a-an't dis nice!" sheexclaimed as she stirred her coffee. "I yust ta-ake a liddle yellynow, too, I ta-ank. "

Alexandra and Marie laughed at her forehandedness, and fell totalking of their own affairs. "I was afraid you had a cold whenI talked to you over the telephone the other night, Marie. Whatwas the matter, had you been crying?"

"Maybe I had, " Marie smiled guiltily. "Frank was out late thatnight. Don't you get lonely sometimes in the winter, when everybodyhas gone away?"

"I thought it was something like that. If I hadn't had company, I'd have run over to see for myself. If you get down-hearted, whatwill become of the rest of us?" Alexandra asked. 

"I don't, very often. There's Mrs. Lee without any coffee!"

Later, when Mrs. Lee declared that her powers were spent, Marieand Alexandra went upstairs to look for some crochet patterns theold lady wanted to borrow. "Better put on your coat, Alexandra. It's cold up there, and I have no idea where those patterns are. Imay have to look through my old trunks. " Marie caught up a shawland opened the stair door, running up the steps ahead of her guest. "While I go through the bureau drawers, you might look in thosehat-boxes on the closet-shelf, over where Frank's clothes hang. There are a lot of odds and ends in them. "

She began tossing over the contents of the drawers, and Alexandrawent into the clothes-closet. Presently she came back, holding aslender elastic yellow stick in her hand. 

"What in the world is this, Marie? You don't mean to tell me Frankever carried such a thing?"

Marie blinked at it with astonishment and sat down on the floor. "Where did you find it? I didn't know he had kept it. I haven'tseen it for years. "

"It really is a cane, then?"

"Yes. One he brought from the old country. He used to carry itwhen I first knew him. Isn't it foolish? Poor Frank!"

Alexandra twirled the stick in her fingers and laughed. "He musthave looked funny!"

Marie was thoughtful. "No, he didn't, really. It didn't seem outof place. He used to be awfully gay like that when he was a youngman. I guess people always get what's hardest for them, Alexandra. "Marie gathered the shawl closer about her and still looked hard atthe cane. "Frank would be all right in the right place, " she saidreflectively. "He ought to have a different kind of wife, for onething. Do you know, Alexandra, I could pick out exactly the rightsort of woman for Frank--now. The trouble is you almost haveto marry a man before you can find out the sort of wife he needs;and usually it's exactly the sort you are not. Then what are yougoing to do about it?" she asked candidly. 

Alexandra confessed she didn't know. "However, " she added, "itseems to me that you get along with Frank about as well as anywoman I've ever seen or heard of could. "

Marie shook her head, pursing her lips and blowing her warm breathsoftly out into the frosty air. "No; I was spoiled at home. Ilike my own way, and I have a quick tongue. When Frank brags, Isay sharp things, and he never forgets. He goes over and over itin his mind; I can feel him. Then I'm too giddy. Frank's wifeought to be timid, and she ought not to care about another livingthing in the world but just Frank! I didn't, when I married him, but I suppose I was too young to stay like that. " Marie sighed. 

Alexandra had never heard Marie speak so frankly about her husbandbefore, and she felt that it was wiser not to encourage her. Nogood, she reasoned, ever came from talking about such things, andwhile Marie was thinking aloud, Alexandra had been steadily searchingthe hat-boxes. "Aren't these the patterns, Maria?"

Maria sprang up from the floor. "Sure enough, we were lookingfor patterns, weren't we? I'd forgot about everything but Frank'sother wife. I'll put that away. "

She poked the cane behind Frank's Sunday clothes, and though shelaughed, Alexandra saw there were tears in her eyes. 

When they went back to the kitchen, the snow had begun to fall, and Marie's visitors thought they must be getting home. She wentout to the cart with them, and tucked the robes about old Mrs. Lee while Alexandra took the blanket off her horse. As they droveaway, Marie turned and went slowly back to the house. She took upthe package of letters Alexandra had brought, but she did not readthem. She turned them over and looked at the foreign stamps, andthen sat watching the flying snow while the dusk deepened in thekitchen and the stove sent out a red glow. 

Marie knew perfectly well that Emil's letters were written more forher than for Alexandra. They were not the sort of letters that ayoung man writes to his sister. They were both more personal andmore painstaking; full of descriptions of the gay life in the oldMexican capital in the days when the strong hand of Porfirio Diazwas still strong. He told about bull-fights and cock-fights, churches and FIESTAS, the flower-markets and the fountains, themusic and dancing, the people of all nations he met in the Italianrestaurants on San Francisco Street. In short, they were the kindof letters a young man writes to a woman when he wishes himselfand his life to seem interesting to her, when he wishes to enlisther imagination in his behalf. 

Marie, when she was alone or when she sat sewing in the evening, often thought about what it must be like down there where Emil was;where there were flowers and street bands everywhere, and carriagesrattling up and down, and where there was a little blind boot-blackin front of the cathedral who could play any tune you asked forby dropping the lids of blacking-boxes on the stone steps. Wheneverything is done and over for one at twenty-three, it is pleasantto let the mind wander forth and follow a young adventurer who haslife before him. "And if it had not been for me, " she thought, "Frank might still be free like that, and having a good time makingpeople admire him. Poor Frank, getting married wasn't very goodfor him either. I'm afraid I do set people against him, as he says. I seem, somehow, to give him away all the time. Perhaps he wouldtry to be agreeable to people again, if I were not around. Itseems as if I always make him just as bad as he can be. "

Later in the winter, Alexandra looked back upon that afternoon asthe last satisfactory visit she had had with Marie. After thatday the younger woman seemed to shrink more and more into herself. When she was with Alexandra she was not spontaneous and frankas she used to be. She seemed to be brooding over something, andholding something back. The weather had a good deal to do withtheir seeing less of each other than usual. There had not beensuch snowstorms in twenty years, and the path across the fields wasdrifted deep from Christmas until March. When the two neighborswent to see each other, they had to go round by the wagon-road, which was twice as far. They telephoned each other almost everynight, though in January there was a stretch of three weeks whenthe wires were down, and when the postman did not come at all. 

Marie often ran in to see her nearest neighbor, old Mrs. Hiller, who was crippled with rheumatism and had only her son, the lameshoemaker, to take care of her; and she went to the French Church, whatever the weather. She was a sincerely devout girl. She prayedfor herself and for Frank, and for Emil, among the temptations ofthat gay, corrupt old city. She found more comfort in the Churchthat winter than ever before. It seemed to come closer to her, and to fill an emptiness that ached in her heart. She tried tobe patient with her husband. He and his hired man usually playedCalifornia Jack in the evening. Marie sat sewing or crocheting andtried to take a friendly interest in the game, but she was alwaysthinking about the wide fields outside, where the snow was driftingover the fences; and about the orchard, where the snow was fallingand packing, crust over crust. When she went out into the darkkitchen to fix her plants for the night, she used to stand by thewindow and look out at the white fields, or watch the currents ofsnow whirling over the orchard. She seemed to feel the weight ofall the snow that lay down there. The branches had become so hardthat they wounded your hand if you but tried to break a twig. Andyet, down under the frozen crusts, at the roots of the trees, thesecret of life was still safe, warm as the blood in one's heart;and the spring would come again! Oh, it would come again!

II

If Alexandra had had much imagination she might have guessed whatwas going on in Marie's mind, and she would have seen long beforewhat was going on in Emil's. But that, as Emil himself had morethan once reflected, was Alexandra's blind side, and her life hadnot been of the kind to sharpen her vision. Her training had allbeen toward the end of making her proficient in what she had undertakento do. Her personal life, her own realization of herself, wasalmost a subconscious existence; like an underground river thatcame to the surface only here and there, at intervals months apart, and then sank again to flow on under her own fields. Nevertheless, the underground stream was there, and it was because she had so muchpersonality to put into her enterprises and succeeded in puttingit into them so completely, that her affairs prospered better thanthose of her neighbors. 

There were certain days in her life, outwardly uneventful, whichAlexandra remembered as peculiarly happy; days when she was closeto the flat, fallow world about her, and felt, as it were, in herown body the joyous germination in the soil. There were days, too, which she and Emil had spent together, upon which she lovedto look back. There had been such a day when they were down onthe river in the dry year, looking over the land. They had madean early start one morning and had driven a long way before noon. When Emil said he was hungry, they drew back from the road, gaveBrigham his oats among the bushes, and climbed up to the top of agrassy bluff to eat their lunch under the shade of some little elmtrees. The river was clear there, and shallow, since there hadbeen no rain, and it ran in ripples over the sparkling sand. Underthe overhanging willows of the opposite bank there was an inlet wherethe water was deeper and flowed so slowly that it seemed to sleepin the sun. In this little bay a single wild duck was swimming anddiving and preening her feathers, disporting herself very happilyin the flickering light and shade. They sat for a long time, watching the solitary bird take its pleasure. No living thinghad ever seemed to Alexandra as beautiful as that wild duck. Emilmust have felt about it as she did, for afterward, when they wereat home, he used sometimes to say, "Sister, you know our duck downthere--" Alexandra remembered that day as one of the happiest inher life. Years afterward she thought of the duck as still there, swimming and diving all by herself in the sunlight, a kind ofenchanted bird that did not know age or change. 

Most of Alexandra's happy memories were as impersonal as this one;yet to her they were very personal. Her mind was a white book, with clear writing about weather and beasts and growing things. Not many people would have cared to read it; only a happy few. She had never been in love, she had never indulged in sentimentalreveries. Even as a girl she had looked upon men as work-fellows. She had grown up in serious times. 

There was one fancy indeed, which persisted through her girlhood. It most often came to her on Sunday mornings, the one day inthe week when she lay late abed listening to the familiar morningsounds; the windmill singing in the brisk breeze, Emil whistlingas he blacked his boots down by the kitchen door. Sometimes, asshe lay thus luxuriously idle, her eyes closed, she used to havean illusion of being lifted up bodily and carried lightly by someone very strong. It was a man, certainly, who carried her, buthe was like no man she knew; he was much larger and stronger andswifter, and he carried her as easily as if she were a sheaf ofwheat. She never saw him, but, with eyes closed, she could feelthat he was yellow like the sunlight, and there was the smell ofripe cornfields about him. She could feel him approach, bend overher and lift her, and then she could feel herself being carriedswiftly off across the fields. After such a reverie she would risehastily, angry with herself, and go down to the bath-house thatwas partitioned off the kitchen shed. There she would stand in atin tub and prosecute her bath with vigor, finishing it by pouringbuckets of cold well-water over her gleaming white body which noman on the Divide could have carried very far. 

As she grew older, this fancy more often came to her when she wastired than when she was fresh and strong. Sometimes, after she hadbeen in the open all day, overseeing the branding of the cattle orthe loading of the pigs, she would come in chilled, take a concoctionof spices and warm home-made wine, and go to bed with her bodyactually aching with fatigue. Then, just before she went to sleep, she had the old sensation of being lifted and carried by a strongbeing who took from her all her bodily weariness. 

PART IV. The White Mulberry Tree

I

The French Church, properly the Church of Sainte-Agnes, stoodupon a hill. The high, narrow, red-brick building, with its tallsteeple and steep roof, could be seen for miles across the wheatfields, though the little town of Sainte-Agnes was completely hidden awayat the foot of the hill. The church looked powerful and triumphantthere on its eminence, so high above the rest of the landscape, with miles of warm color lying at its feet, and by its position andsetting it reminded one of some of the churches built long ago inthe wheat-lands of middle France. 

Late one June afternoon Alexandra Bergson was driving along oneof the many roads that led through the rich French farming countryto the big church. The sunlight was shining directly in her face, and there was a blaze of light all about the red church on thehill. Beside Alexandra lounged a strikingly exotic figure in atall Mexican hat, a silk sash, and a black velvet jacket sewn withsilver buttons. Emil had returned only the night before, and hissister was so proud of him that she decided at once to take him upto the church supper, and to make him wear the Mexican costume hehad brought home in his trunk. "All the girls who have stands aregoing to wear fancy costumes, " she argued, "and some of the boys. Marie is going to tell fortunes, and she sent to Omaha for a Bohemiandress her father brought back from a visit to the old country. If you wear those clothes, they will all be pleased. And you musttake your guitar. Everybody ought to do what they can to helpalong, and we have never done much. We are not a talented family. "

The supper was to be at six o'clock, in the basement of the church, and afterward there would be a fair, with charades and an auction. Alexandra had set out from home early, leaving the house to Signaand Nelse Jensen, who were to be married next week. Signa hadshyly asked to have the wedding put off until Emil came home. 

Alexandra was well satisfied with her brother. As they drovethrough the rolling French country toward the westering sun and thestalwart church, she was thinking of that time long ago when sheand Emil drove back from the river valley to the still unconqueredDivide. Yes, she told herself, it had been worth while; both Emiland the country had become what she had hoped. Out of her father'schildren there was one who was fit to cope with the world, who hadnot been tied to the plow, and who had a personality apart from thesoil. And that, she reflected, was what she had worked for. Shefelt well satisfied with her life. 

When they reached the church, a score of teams were hitched infront of the basement doors that opened from the hillside upon thesanded terrace, where the boys wrestled and had jumping-matches. Amedee Chevalier, a proud father of one week, rushed out andembraced Emil. Amedee was an only son, --hence he was a very richyoung man, --but he meant to have twenty children himself, likehis uncle Xavier. "Oh, Emil, " he cried, hugging his old friendrapturously, "why ain't you been up to see my boy? You cometo-morrow, sure? Emil, you wanna get a boy right off! It's thegreatest thing ever! No, no, no! Angel not sick at all. Everythingjust fine. That boy he come into this world laughin', and he beenlaughin' ever since. You come an' see!" He pounded Emil's ribsto emphasize each announcement. 

Emil caught his arms. "Stop, Amedee. You're knocking the wind outof me. I brought him cups and spoons and blankets and moccasinsenough for an orphan asylum. I'm awful glad it's a boy, sureenough!"

The young men crowded round Emil to admire his costume and to tellhim in a breath everything that had happened since he went away. Emil had more friends up here in the French country than down onNorway Creek. The French and Bohemian boys were spirited and jolly, liked variety, and were as much predisposed to favor anything newas the Scandinavian boys were to reject it. The Norwegian andSwedish lads were much more self-centred, apt to be egotisticaland jealous. They were cautious and reserved with Emil because hehad been away to college, and were prepared to take him down if heshould try to put on airs with them. The French boys liked a bitof swagger, and they were always delighted to hear about anythingnew: new clothes, new games, new songs, new dances. Now theycarried Emil off to show him the club room they had just fitted upover the post-office, down in the village. They ran down the hillin a drove, all laughing and chattering at once, some in French, some in English. 

Alexandra went into the cool, whitewashed basement where the womenwere setting the tables. Marie was standing on a chair, buildinga little tent of shawls where she was to tell fortunes. She sprangdown and ran toward Alexandra, stopping short and looking at herin disappointment. Alexandra nodded to her encouragingly. 

"Oh, he will be here, Marie. The boys have taken him off to showhim something. You won't know him. He is a man now, sure enough. I have no boy left. He smokes terrible-smelling Mexican cigarettesand talks Spanish. How pretty you look, child. Where did you getthose beautiful earrings?"

"They belonged to father's mother. He always promised them to me. He sent them with the dress and said I could keep them. "

Marie wore a short red skirt of stoutly woven cloth, a white bodiceand kirtle, a yellow silk turban wound low over her brown curls, and long coral pendants in her ears. Her ears had been piercedagainst a piece of cork by her great-aunt when she was seven yearsold. In those germless days she had worn bits of broom-straw, pluckedfrom the common sweeping-broom, in the lobes until the holes werehealed and ready for little gold rings. 

When Emil came back from the village, he lingered outside on theterrace with the boys. Marie could hear him talking and strummingon his guitar while Raoul Marcel sang falsetto. She was vexedwith him for staying out there. It made her very nervous to hearhim and not to see him; for, certainly, she told herself, she wasnot going out to look for him. When the supper bell rang and theboys came trooping in to get seats at the first table, she forgotall about her annoyance and ran to greet the tallest of the crowd, in his conspicuous attire. She didn't mind showing her embarrassmentat all. She blushed and laughed excitedly as she gave Emil herhand, and looked delightedly at the black velvet coat that broughtout his fair skin and fine blond head. Marie was incapable of beinglukewarm about anything that pleased her. She simply did not knowhow to give a half-hearted response. When she was delighted, shewas as likely as not to stand on her tip-toes and clap her hands. If people laughed at her, she laughed with them. 

"Do the men wear clothes like that every day, in the street?" Shecaught Emil by his sleeve and turned him about. "Oh, I wish I livedwhere people wore things like that! Are the buttons real silver?Put on the hat, please. What a heavy thing! How do you ever wearit? Why don't you tell us about the bull-fights?"

She wanted to wring all his experiences from him at once, withoutwaiting a moment. Emil smiled tolerantly and stood looking down ather with his old, brooding gaze, while the French girls flutteredabout him in their white dresses and ribbons, and Alexandra watchedthe scene with pride. Several of the French girls, Marie knew, werehoping that Emil would take them to supper, and she was relievedwhen he took only his sister. Marie caught Frank's arm and draggedhim to the same table, managing to get seats opposite the Bergsons, so that she could hear what they were talking about. Alexandramade Emil tell Mrs. Xavier Chevalier, the mother of the twenty, about how he had seen a famous matador killed in the bull-ring. Marie listened to every word, only taking her eyes from Emil towatch Frank's plate and keep it filled. When Emil finished hisaccount, --bloody enough to satisfy Mrs. Xavier and to make herfeel thankful that she was not a matador, --Marie broke out witha volley of questions. How did the women dress when they went tobull-fights? Did they wear mantillas? Did they never wear hats?

After supper the young people played charades for the amusementof their elders, who sat gossiping between their guesses. All theshops in Sainte-Agnes were closed at eight o'clock that night, sothat the merchants and their clerks could attend the fair. Theauction was the liveliest part of the entertainment, for the Frenchboys always lost their heads when they began to bid, satisfied thattheir extravagance was in a good cause. After all the pincushionsand sofa pillows and embroidered slippers were sold, Emil precipitateda panic by taking out one of his turquoise shirt studs, which everyone had been admiring, and handing it to the auctioneer. All theFrench girls clamored for it, and their sweethearts bid againsteach other recklessly. Marie wanted it, too, and she kept makingsignals to Frank, which he took a sour pleasure in disregarding. He didn't see the use of making a fuss over a fellow just becausehe was dressed like a clown. When the turquoise went to MalvinaSauvage, the French banker's daughter, Marie shrugged her shouldersand betook herself to her little tent of shawls, where she beganto shuffle her cards by the light of a tallow candle, calling out, "Fortunes, fortunes!"

The young priest, Father Duchesne, went first to have his fortuneread. Marie took his long white hand, looked at it, and thenbegan to run off her cards. "I see a long journey across water foryou, Father. You will go to a town all cut up by water; built onislands, it seems to be, with rivers and green fields all about. And you will visit an old lady with a white cap and gold hoops inher ears, and you will be very happy there. "

"Mais, oui, " said the priest, with a melancholy smile. "C'estL'Isle-Adam, chez ma mere. Vous etes tres savante, ma fille. " Hepatted her yellow turban, calling, "Venez donc, mes garcons! Ily a ici une veritable clairvoyante!"

Marie was clever at fortune-telling, indulging in a light ironythat amused the crowd. She told old Brunot, the miser, that hewould lose all his money, marry a girl of sixteen, and live happilyon a crust. Sholte, the fat Russian boy, who lived for his stomach, was to be disappointed in love, grow thin, and shoot himself fromdespondency. Amedee was to have twenty children, and nineteen ofthem were to be girls. Amedee slapped Frank on the back and askedhim why he didn't see what the fortune-teller would promise him. But Frank shook off his friendly hand and grunted, "She tell myfortune long ago; bad enough!" Then he withdrew to a corner andsat glowering at his wife. 

Frank's case was all the more painful because he had no onein particular to fix his jealousy upon. Sometimes he could havethanked the man who would bring him evidence against his wife. He had discharged a good farm-boy, Jan Smirka, because he thoughtMarie was fond of him; but she had not seemed to miss Jan whenhe was gone, and she had been just as kind to the next boy. Thefarm-hands would always do anything for Marie; Frank couldn't findone so surly that he would not make an effort to please her. Atthe bottom of his heart Frank knew well enough that if he could oncegive up his grudge, his wife would come back to him. But he couldnever in the world do that. The grudge was fundamental. Perhapshe could not have given it up if he had tried. Perhaps he got moresatisfaction out of feeling himself abused than he would have gotout of being loved. If he could once have made Marie thoroughlyunhappy, he might have relented and raised her from the dust. Butshe had never humbled herself. In the first days of their loveshe had been his slave; she had admired him abandonedly. But themoment he began to bully her and to be unjust, she began to drawaway; at first in tearful amazement, then in quiet, unspoken disgust. The distance between them had widened and hardened. It no longercontracted and brought them suddenly together. The spark of herlife went somewhere else, and he was always watching to surpriseit. He knew that somewhere she must get a feeling to live upon, for she was not a woman who could live without loving. He wantedto prove to himself the wrong he felt. What did she hide in herheart? Where did it go? Even Frank had his churlish delicacies;he never reminded her of how much she had once loved him. For thatMarie was grateful to him. 

While Marie was chattering to the French boys, Amedee called Emilto the back of the room and whispered to him that they were goingto play a joke on the girls. At eleven o'clock, Amedee was to goup to the switchboard in the vestibule and turn off the electriclights, and every boy would have a chance to kiss his sweetheartbefore Father Duchesne could find his way up the stairs to turn thecurrent on again. The only difficulty was the candle in Marie'stent; perhaps, as Emil had no sweetheart, he would oblige the boysby blowing out the candle. Emil said he would undertake to dothat. 

At five minutes to eleven he sauntered up to Marie's booth, andthe French boys dispersed to find their girls. He leaned over thecard-table and gave himself up to looking at her. "Do you thinkyou could tell my fortune?" he murmured. It was the first word hehad had alone with her for almost a year. "My luck hasn't changedany. It's just the same. "

Marie had often wondered whether there was anyone else who couldlook his thoughts to you as Emil could. To-night, when she met hissteady, powerful eyes, it was impossible not to feel the sweetnessof the dream he was dreaming; it reached her before she could shutit out, and hid itself in her heart. She began to shuffle hercards furiously. "I'm angry with you, Emil, " she broke out withpetulance. "Why did you give them that lovely blue stone to sell?You might have known Frank wouldn't buy it for me, and I wanted itawfully!"

Emil laughed shortly. "People who want such little things surelyought to have them, " he said dryly. He thrust his hand into thepocket of his velvet trousers and brought out a handful of uncutturquoises, as big as marbles. Leaning over the table he droppedthem into her lap. "There, will those do? Be careful, don't letany one see them. Now, I suppose you want me to go away and letyou play with them?"

Marie was gazing in rapture at the soft blue color of the stones. "Oh, Emil! Is everything down there beautiful like these? Howcould you ever come away?"

At that instant Amedee laid hands on the switchboard. There was ashiver and a giggle, and every one looked toward the red blur thatMarie's candle made in the dark. Immediately that, too, was gone. Little shrieks and currents of soft laughter ran up and down thedark hall. Marie started up, --directly into Emil's arms. In thesame instant she felt his lips. The veil that had hung uncertainlybetween them for so long was dissolved. Before she knew what shewas doing, she had committed herself to that kiss that was at oncea boy's and a man's, as timid as it was tender; so like Emil andso unlike any one else in the world. Not until it was over didshe realize what it meant. And Emil, who had so often imaginedthe shock of this first kiss, was surprised at its gentleness andnaturalness. It was like a sigh which they had breathed together;almost sorrowful, as if each were afraid of wakening something inthe other. 

When the lights came on again, everybody was laughing and shouting, and all the French girls were rosy and shining with mirth. OnlyMarie, in her little tent of shawls, was pale and quiet. Under heryellow turban the red coral pendants swung against white cheeks. Frank was still staring at her, but he seemed to see nothing. Yearsago, he himself had had the power to take the blood from her cheekslike that. Perhaps he did not remember--perhaps he had nevernoticed! Emil was already at the other end of the hall, walkingabout with the shoulder-motion he had acquired among the Mexicans, studying the floor with his intent, deep-set eyes. Marie began totake down and fold her shawls. She did not glance up again. Theyoung people drifted to the other end of the hall where the guitarwas sounding. In a moment she heard Emil and Raoul singing:--

"Across the Rio Grand-e There lies a sunny land-e, My bright-eyedMexico!"

Alexandra Bergson came up to the card booth. "Let me help you, Marie. You look tired. "

She placed her hand on Marie's arm and felt her shiver. Mariestiffened under that kind, calm hand. Alexandra drew back, perplexedand hurt. 

There was about Alexandra something of the impervious calm of thefatalist, always disconcerting to very young people, who cannotfeel that the heart lives at all unless it is still at the mercyof storms; unless its strings can scream to the touch of pain. 

II

Signa's wedding supper was over. The guests, and the tiresomelittle Norwegian preacher who had performed the marriage ceremony, were saying good-night. Old Ivar was hitching the horses to thewagon to take the wedding presents and the bride and groom up totheir new home, on Alexandra's north quarter. When Ivar drove upto the gate, Emil and Marie Shabata began to carry out the presents, and Alexandra went into her bedroom to bid Signa good-bye and togive her a few words of good counsel. She was surprised to findthat the bride had changed her slippers for heavy shoes and waspinning up her skirts. At that moment Nelse appeared at the gatewith the two milk cows that Alexandra had given Signa for a weddingpresent. 

Alexandra began to laugh. "Why, Signa, you and Nelse are to ridehome. I'll send Ivar over with the cows in the morning. "

Signa hesitated and looked perplexed. When her husband called her, she pinned her hat on resolutely. "I ta-ank I better do yust likehe say, " she murmured in confusion. 

Alexandra and Marie accompanied Signa to the gate and saw theparty set off, old Ivar driving ahead in the wagon and the brideand groom following on foot, each leading a cow. Emil burst intoa laugh before they were out of hearing. 

"Those two will get on, " said Alexandra as they turned back to thehouse. "They are not going to take any chances. They will feelsafer with those cows in their own stable. Marie, I am going tosend for an old woman next. As soon as I get the girls broken in, I marry them off. "

"I've no patience with Signa, marrying that grumpy fellow!" Mariedeclared. "I wanted her to marry that nice Smirka boy who workedfor us last winter. I think she liked him, too. "

"Yes, I think she did, " Alexandra assented, "but I suppose she wastoo much afraid of Nelse to marry any one else. Now that I thinkof it, most of my girls have married men they were afraid of. Ibelieve there is a good deal of the cow in most Swedish girls. You high-strung Bohemian can't understand us. We're a terriblypractical people, and I guess we think a cross man makes a goodmanager. "

Marie shrugged her shoulders and turned to pin up a lock of hairthat had fallen on her neck. Somehow Alexandra had irritated herof late. Everybody irritated her. She was tired of everybody. "I'mgoing home alone, Emil, so you needn't get your hat, " she said asshe wound her scarf quickly about her head. "Good-night, Alexandra, "she called back in a strained voice, running down the gravel walk. 

Emil followed with long strides until he overtook her. Then she beganto walk slowly. It was a night of warm wind and faint starlight, and the fireflies were glimmering over the wheat. 

"Marie, " said Emil after they had walked for a while, "I wonder ifyou know how unhappy I am?"

Marie did not answer him. Her head, in its white scarf, droopedforward a little. 

Emil kicked a clod from the path and went on:--

"I wonder whether you are really shallow-hearted, like you seem?Sometimes I think one boy does just as well as another for you. It never seems to make much difference whether it is me or RaoulMarcel or Jan Smirka. Are you really like that?"

"Perhaps I am. What do you want me to do? Sit round and cry allday? When I've cried until I can't cry any more, then--then I mustdo something else. "

"Are you sorry for me?" he persisted. 

"No, I'm not. If I were big and free like you, I wouldn't letanything make me unhappy. As old Napoleon Brunot said at the fair, I wouldn't go lovering after no woman. I'd take the first trainand go off and have all the fun there is. "

"I tried that, but it didn't do any good. Everything reminded me. The nicer the place was, the more I wanted you. " They had come tothe stile and Emil pointed to it persuasively. "Sit down a moment, I want to ask you something. " Marie sat down on the top step andEmil drew nearer. "Would you tell me something that's none of mybusiness if you thought it would help me out? Well, then, tellme, PLEASE tell me, why you ran away with Frank Shabata!"

Marie drew back. "Because I was in love with him, " she said firmly. 

"Really?" he asked incredulously. 

"Yes, indeed. Very much in love with him. I think I was the onewho suggested our running away. From the first it was more myfault than his. "

Emil turned away his face. 

"And now, " Marie went on, "I've got to remember that. Frank isjust the same now as he was then, only then I would see him as Iwanted him to be. I would have my own way. And now I pay for it. "

"You don't do all the paying. "

"That's it. When one makes a mistake, there's no telling whereit will stop. But you can go away; you can leave all this behindyou. "

"Not everything. I can't leave you behind. Will you go away withme, Marie?"

Marie started up and stepped across the stile. "Emil! How wickedlyyou talk! I am not that kind of a girl, and you know it. But whatam I going to do if you keep tormenting me like this!" she addedplaintively. 

"Marie, I won't bother you any more if you will tell me justone thing. Stop a minute and look at me. No, nobody can see us. Everybody's asleep. That was only a firefly. Marie, STOP and tellme!"

Emil overtook her and catching her by the shoulders shook hergently, as if he were trying to awaken a sleepwalker. 

Marie hid her face on his arm. "Don't ask me anything more. Idon't know anything except how miserable I am. And I thought itwould be all right when you came back. Oh, Emil, " she clutched hissleeve and began to cry, "what am I to do if you don't go away? Ican't go, and one of us must. Can't you see?"

Emil stood looking down at her, holding his shoulders stiff andstiffening the arm to which she clung. Her white dress lookedgray in the darkness. She seemed like a troubled spirit, like someshadow out of the earth, clinging to him and entreating him to giveher peace. Behind her the fireflies were weaving in and out overthe wheat. He put his hand on her bent head. "On my honor, Marie, if you will say you love me, I will go away. "

She lifted her face to his. "How could I help it? Didn't youknow?"

Emil was the one who trembled, through all his frame. After heleft Marie at her gate, he wandered about the fields all night, till morning put out the fireflies and the stars. 

III

One evening, a week after Signa's wedding, Emil was kneeling beforea box in the sitting-room, packing his books. From time to timehe rose and wandered about the house, picking up stray volumes andbringing them listlessly back to his box. He was packing withoutenthusiasm. He was not very sanguine about his future. Alexandrasat sewing by the table. She had helped him pack his trunk inthe afternoon. As Emil came and went by her chair with his books, he thought to himself that it had not been so hard to leave hissister since he first went away to school. He was going directlyto Omaha, to read law in the office of a Swedish lawyer untilOctober, when he would enter the law school at Ann Arbor. Theyhad planned that Alexandra was to come to Michigan--a long journeyfor her--at Christmas time, and spend several weeks with him. Nevertheless, he felt that this leave-taking would be more finalthan his earlier ones had been; that it meant a definite break withhis old home and the beginning of something new--he did not knowwhat. His ideas about the future would not crystallize; the morehe tried to think about it, the vaguer his conception of it became. But one thing was clear, he told himself; it was high time that hemade good to Alexandra, and that ought to be incentive enough tobegin with. 

As he went about gathering up his books he felt as if he wereuprooting things. At last he threw himself down on the old slatlounge where he had slept when he was little, and lay looking upat the familiar cracks in the ceiling. 

"Tired, Emil?" his sister asked. 

"Lazy, " he murmured, turning on his side and looking at her. Hestudied Alexandra's face for a long time in the lamplight. It hadnever occurred to him that his sister was a handsome woman untilMarie Shabata had told him so. Indeed, he had never thought ofher as being a woman at all, only a sister. As he studied her benthead, he looked up at the picture of John Bergson above the lamp. "No, " he thought to himself, "she didn't get it there. I supposeI am more like that. "

"Alexandra, " he said suddenly, "that old walnut secretary you usefor a desk was father's, wasn't it?"

Alexandra went on stitching. "Yes. It was one of the first thingshe bought for the old log house. It was a great extravagancein those days. But he wrote a great many letters back to the oldcountry. He had many friends there, and they wrote to him up to thetime he died. No one ever blamed him for grandfather's disgrace. I can see him now, sitting there on Sundays, in his white shirt, writing pages and pages, so carefully. He wrote a fine, regularhand, almost like engraving. Yours is something like his, whenyou take pains. "

"Grandfather was really crooked, was he?"

"He married an unscrupulous woman, and then--then I'm afraid hewas really crooked. When we first came here father used to havedreams about making a great fortune and going back to Sweden topay back to the poor sailors the money grandfather had lost. "

Emil stirred on the lounge. "I say, that would have been worthwhile, wouldn't it? Father wasn't a bit like Lou or Oscar, washe? I can't remember much about him before he got sick. "

"Oh, not at all!" Alexandra dropped her sewing on her knee. "Hehad better opportunities; not to make money, but to make somethingof himself. He was a quiet man, but he was very intelligent. Youwould have been proud of him, Emil. "

Alexandra felt that he would like to know there had been a man ofhis kin whom he could admire. She knew that Emil was ashamed ofLou and Oscar, because they were bigoted and self-satisfied. Henever said much about them, but she could feel his disgust. Hisbrothers had shown their disapproval of him ever since he firstwent away to school. The only thing that would have satisfied themwould have been his failure at the University. As it was, theyresented every change in his speech, in his dress, in his point ofview; though the latter they had to conjecture, for Emil avoidedtalking to them about any but family matters. All his intereststhey treated as affectations. 

Alexandra took up her sewing again. "I can remember father whenhe was quite a young man. He belonged to some kind of a musicalsociety, a male chorus, in Stockholm. I can remember going withmother to hear them sing. There must have been a hundred of them, and they all wore long black coats and white neckties. I wasused to seeing father in a blue coat, a sort of jacket, and when Irecognized him on the platform, I was very proud. Do you rememberthat Swedish song he taught you, about the ship boy?"

"Yes. I used to sing it to the Mexicans. They like anythingdifferent. " Emil paused. "Father had a hard fight here, didn'the?" he added thoughtfully. 

"Yes, and he died in a dark time. Still, he had hope. He believedin the land. "

"And in you, I guess, " Emil said to himself. There was anotherperiod of silence; that warm, friendly silence, full of perfectunderstanding, in which Emil and Alexandra had spent many of theirhappiest half-hours. 

At last Emil said abruptly, "Lou and Oscar would be better off ifthey were poor, wouldn't they?"

Alexandra smiled. "Maybe. But their children wouldn't. I havegreat hopes of Milly. "

Emil shivered. "I don't know. Seems to me it gets worse as itgoes on. The worst of the Swedes is that they're never willingto find out how much they don't know. It was like that at theUniversity. Always so pleased with themselves! There's no gettingbehind that conceited Swedish grin. The Bohemians and Germans wereso different. "

"Come, Emil, don't go back on your own people. Father wasn'tconceited, Uncle Otto wasn't. Even Lou and Oscar weren't when theywere boys. "

Emil looked incredulous, but he did not dispute the point. Heturned on his back and lay still for a long time, his hands lockedunder his head, looking up at the ceiling. Alexandra knew that hewas thinking of many things. She felt no anxiety about Emil. Shehad always believed in him, as she had believed in the land. Hehad been more like himself since he got back from Mexico; seemedglad to be at home, and talked to her as he used to do. She hadno doubt that his wandering fit was over, and that he would soonbe settled in life. 

"Alexandra, " said Emil suddenly, "do you remember the wild duck wesaw down on the river that time?"

His sister looked up. "I often think of her. It always seems tome she's there still, just like we saw her. "

"I know. It's queer what things one remembers and what things oneforgets. " Emil yawned and sat up. "Well, it's time to turn in. "He rose, and going over to Alexandra stooped down and kissed herlightly on the cheek. "Good-night, sister. I think you did prettywell by us. "

Emil took up his lamp and went upstairs. Alexandra sat finishinghis new nightshirt, that must go in the top tray of his trunk. 

IV

The next morning Angelique, Amedee's wife, was in the kitchen bakingpies, assisted by old Mrs. Chevalier. Between the mixing-boardand the stove stood the old cradle that had been Amedee's, and init was his black-eyed son. As Angelique, flushed and excited, withflour on her hands, stopped to smile at the baby, Emil Bergson rodeup to the kitchen door on his mare and dismounted. 

"'Medee is out in the field, Emil, " Angelique called as she ranacross the kitchen to the oven. "He begins to cut his wheat to-day;the first wheat ready to cut anywhere about here. He bought a newheader, you know, because all the wheat's so short this year. Ihope he can rent it to the neighbors, it cost so much. He and hiscousins bought a steam thresher on shares. You ought to go out andsee that header work. I watched it an hour this morning, busy asI am with all the men to feed. He has a lot of hands, but he'sthe only one that knows how to drive the header or how to run theengine, so he has to be everywhere at once. He's sick, too, andought to be in his bed. "

Emil bent over Hector Baptiste, trying to make him blink his round, bead-like black eyes. "Sick? What's the matter with your daddy, kid? Been making him walk the floor with you?"

Angelique sniffed. "Not much! We don't have that kind of babies. It was his father that kept Baptiste awake. All night I had to begetting up and making mustard plasters to put on his stomach. Hehad an awful colic. He said he felt better this morning, but Idon't think he ought to be out in the field, overheating himself. "

Angelique did not speak with much anxiety, not because she wasindifferent, but because she felt so secure in their good fortune. Only good things could happen to a rich, energetic, handsome youngman like Amedee, with a new baby in the cradle and a new header inthe field. 

Emil stroked the black fuzz on Baptiste's head. "I say, Angelique, one of 'Medee's grandmothers, 'way back, must have been a squaw. This kid looks exactly like the Indian babies. "

Angelique made a face at him, but old Mrs. Chevalier had beentouched on a sore point, and she let out such a stream of fieryPATOIS that Emil fled from the kitchen and mounted his mare. 

Opening the pasture gate from the saddle, Emil rode across the fieldto the clearing where the thresher stood, driven by a stationaryengine and fed from the header boxes. As Amedee was not on theengine, Emil rode on to the wheatfield, where he recognized, onthe header, the slight, wiry figure of his friend, coatless, hiswhite shirt puffed out by the wind, his straw hat stuck jauntilyon the side of his head. The six big work-horses that drew, orrather pushed, the header, went abreast at a rapid walk, and as theywere still green at the work they required a good deal of managementon Amedee's part; especially when they turned the corners, wherethey divided, three and three, and then swung round into line againwith a movement that looked as complicated as a wheel of artillery. Emil felt a new thrill of admiration for his friend, and with itthe old pang of envy at the way in which Amedee could do with hismight what his hand found to do, and feel that, whatever it was, it was the most important thing in the world. "I'll have to bringAlexandra up to see this thing work, " Emil thought; "it's splendid!"

When he saw Emil, Amedee waved to him and called to one of histwenty cousins to take the reins. Stepping off the header withoutstopping it, he ran up to Emil who had dismounted. "Come along, "he called. "I have to go over to the engine for a minute. I gottagreen man running it, and I gotta to keep an eye on him. "

Emil thought the lad was unnaturally flushed and more excited thaneven the cares of managing a big farm at a critical time warranted. As they passed behind a last year's stack, Amedee clutched at hisright side and sank down for a moment on the straw. 

"Ouch! I got an awful pain in me, Emil. Something's the matterwith my insides, for sure. "

Emil felt his fiery cheek. "You ought to go straight to bed, 'Medee, and telephone for the doctor; that's what you ought to do. "

Amedee staggered up with a gesture of despair. "How can I? I gotno time to be sick. Three thousand dollars' worth of new machineryto manage, and the wheat so ripe it will begin to shatter nextweek. My wheat's short, but it's gotta grand full berries. What'she slowing down for? We haven't got header boxes enough to feedthe thresher, I guess. "

Amedee started hot-foot across the stubble, leaning a little to theright as he ran, and waved to the engineer not to stop the engine. 

Emil saw that this was no time to talk about his own affairs. Hemounted his mare and rode on to Sainte-Agnes, to bid his friendsthere good-bye. He went first to see Raoul Marcel, and found himinnocently practising the "Gloria" for the big confirmation serviceon Sunday while he polished the mirrors of his father's saloon. 

As Emil rode homewards at three o'clock in the afternoon, he sawAmedee staggering out of the wheatfield, supported by two of hiscousins. Emil stopped and helped them put the boy to bed. 

V

When Frank Shabata came in from work at five o'clock that evening, old Moses Marcel, Raoul's father, telephoned him that Amedee hadhad a seizure in the wheatfield, and that Doctor Paradis was goingto operate on him as soon as the Hanover doctor got there to help. Frank dropped a word of this at the table, bolted his supper, androde off to Sainte-Agnes, where there would be sympathetic discussionof Amedee's case at Marcel's saloon. 

As soon as Frank was gone, Marie telephoned Alexandra. It was acomfort to hear her friend's voice. Yes, Alexandra knew what therewas to be known about Amedee. Emil had been there when they carriedhim out of the field, and had stayed with him until the doctorsoperated for appendicitis at five o'clock. They were afraid itwas too late to do much good; it should have been done three daysago. Amedee was in a very bad way. Emil had just come home, wornout and sick himself. She had given him some brandy and put himto bed. 

Marie hung up the receiver. Poor Amedee's illness had taken on anew meaning to her, now that she knew Emil had been with him. Andit might so easily have been the other way--Emil who was ill andAmedee who was sad! Marie looked about the dusky sitting-room. She had seldom felt so utterly lonely. If Emil was asleep, therewas not even a chance of his coming; and she could not go toAlexandra for sympathy. She meant to tell Alexandra everything, as soon as Emil went away. Then whatever was left between themwould be honest. 

But she could not stay in the house this evening. Where should shego? She walked slowly down through the orchard, where the eveningair was heavy with the smell of wild cotton. The fresh, salty scentof the wild roses had given way before this more powerful perfumeof midsummer. Wherever those ashes-of-rose balls hung on theirmilky stalks, the air about them was saturated with their breath. The sky was still red in the west and the evening star hungdirectly over the Bergsons' wind-mill. Marie crossed the fence atthe wheatfield corner, and walked slowly along the path that ledto Alexandra's. She could not help feeling hurt that Emil had notcome to tell her about Amedee. It seemed to her most unnaturalthat he should not have come. If she were in trouble, certainlyhe was the one person in the world she would want to see. Perhapshe wished her to understand that for her he was as good as gonealready. 

Marie stole slowly, flutteringly, along the path, like a whitenight-moth out of the fields. The years seemed to stretch beforeher like the land; spring, summer, autumn, winter, spring; alwaysthe same patient fields, the patient little trees, the patient lives;always the same yearning, the same pulling at the chain--until theinstinct to live had torn itself and bled and weakened for the lasttime, until the chain secured a dead woman, who might cautiouslybe released. Marie walked on, her face lifted toward the remote, inaccessible evening star. 

When she reached the stile she sat down and waited. How terribleit was to love people when you could not really share their lives!

Yes, in so far as she was concerned, Emil was already gone. Theycouldn't meet any more. There was nothing for them to say. Theyhad spent the last penny of their small change; there was nothingleft but gold. The day of love-tokens was past. They had nowonly their hearts to give each other. And Emil being gone, whatwas her life to be like? In some ways, it would be easier. Shewould not, at least, live in perpetual fear. If Emil were onceaway and settled at work, she would not have the feeling that shewas spoiling his life. With the memory he left her, she could beas rash as she chose. Nobody could be the worse for it but herself;and that, surely, did not matter. Her own case was clear. When agirl had loved one man, and then loved another while that man wasstill alive, everybody knew what to think of her. What happenedto her was of little consequence, so long as she did not drag otherpeople down with her. Emil once away, she could let everythingelse go and live a new life of perfect love. 

Marie left the stile reluctantly. She had, after all, thought hemight come. And how glad she ought to be, she told herself, thathe was asleep. She left the path and went across the pasture. Themoon was almost full. An owl was hooting somewhere in the fields. She had scarcely thought about where she was going when the pondglittered before her, where Emil had shot the ducks. She stoppedand looked at it. Yes, there would be a dirty way out of life, ifone chose to take it. But she did not want to die. She wanted tolive and dream--a hundred years, forever! As long as this sweetnesswelled up in her heart, as long as her breast could hold thistreasure of pain! She felt as the pond must feel when it held themoon like that; when it encircled and swelled with that image ofgold. 

In the morning, when Emil came down-stairs, Alexandra met himin the sitting-room and put her hands on his shoulders. "Emil, Iwent to your room as soon as it was light, but you were sleepingso sound I hated to wake you. There was nothing you could do, soI let you sleep. They telephoned from Sainte-Agnes that Amedeedied at three o'clock this morning. "

VI

The Church has always held that life is for the living. On Saturday, while half the village of Sainte-Agnes was mourning for Amedee andpreparing the funeral black for his burial on Monday, the otherhalf was busy with white dresses and white veils for the greatconfirmation service to-morrow, when the bishop was to confirm aclass of one hundred boys and girls. Father Duchesne divided histime between the living and the dead. All day Saturday the churchwas a scene of bustling activity, a little hushed by the thoughtof Amedee. The choir were busy rehearsing a mass of Rossini, whichthey had studied and practised for this occasion. The women weretrimming the altar, the boys and girls were bringing flowers. 

On Sunday morning the bishop was to drive overland to Sainte-Agnesfrom Hanover, and Emil Bergson had been asked to take the place ofone of Amedee's cousins in the cavalcade of forty French boys whowere to ride across country to meet the bishop's carriage. Atsix o'clock on Sunday morning the boys met at the church. As theystood holding their horses by the bridle, they talked in low tonesof their dead comrade. They kept repeating that Amedee had alwaysbeen a good boy, glancing toward the red brick church which hadplayed so large a part in Amedee's life, had been the scene of hismost serious moments and of his happiest hours. He had played andwrestled and sung and courted under its shadow. Only three weeksago he had proudly carried his baby there to be christened. Theycould not doubt that that invisible arm was still about Amedee; thatthrough the church on earth he had passed to the church triumphant, the goal of the hopes and faith of so many hundred years. 

When the word was given to mount, the young men rode at a walk outof the village; but once out among the wheatfields in the morningsun, their horses and their own youth got the better of them. Awave of zeal and fiery enthusiasm swept over them. They longedfor a Jerusalem to deliver. The thud of their galloping hoofsinterrupted many a country breakfast and brought many a woman andchild to the door of the farmhouses as they passed. Five miles eastof Sainte-Agnes they met the bishop in his open carriage, attendedby two priests. Like one man the boys swung off their hats in abroad salute, and bowed their heads as the handsome old man liftedhis two fingers in the episcopal blessing. The horsemen closedabout the carriage like a guard, and whenever a restless horse brokefrom control and shot down the road ahead of the body, the bishoplaughed and rubbed his plump hands together. "What fine boys!" hesaid to his priests. "The Church still has her cavalry. "

As the troop swept past the graveyard half a mile east of thetown, --the first frame church of the parish had stood there, --oldPierre Seguin was already out with his pick and spade, diggingAmedee's grave. He knelt and uncovered as the bishop passed. Theboys with one accord looked away from old Pierre to the red churchon the hill, with the gold cross flaming on its steeple. 

Mass was at eleven. While the church was filling, Emil Bergson waitedoutside, watching the wagons and buggies drive up the hill. Afterthe bell began to ring, he saw Frank Shabata ride up on horsebackand tie his horse to the hitch-bar. Marie, then, was not coming. Emil turned and went into the church. Amedee's was the only emptypew, and he sat down in it. Some of Amedee's cousins were there, dressed in black and weeping. When all the pews were full, theold men and boys packed the open space at the back of the church, kneeling on the floor. There was scarcely a family in town that wasnot represented in the confirmation class, by a cousin, at least. The new communicants, with their clear, reverent faces, were beautifulto look upon as they entered in a body and took the front benchesreserved for them. Even before the Mass began, the air was chargedwith feeling. The choir had never sung so well and Raoul Marcel, in the "Gloria, " drew even the bishop's eyes to the organ loft. For the offertory he sang Gounod's "Ave Maria, "--always spoken ofin Sainte-Agnes as "the Ave Maria. "

Emil began to torture himself with questions about Marie. Was sheill? Had she quarreled with her husband? Was she too unhappy tofind comfort even here? Had she, perhaps, thought that he wouldcome to her? Was she waiting for him? Overtaxed by excitementand sorrow as he was, the rapture of the service took hold upon hisbody and mind. As he listened to Raoul, he seemed to emerge fromthe conflicting emotions which had been whirling him about andsucking him under. He felt as if a clear light broke upon hismind, and with it a conviction that good was, after all, strongerthan evil, and that good was possible to men. He seemed to discoverthat there was a kind of rapture in which he could love foreverwithout faltering and without sin. He looked across the heads ofthe people at Frank Shabata with calmness. That rapture was for thosewho could feel it; for people who could not, it was non-existent. He coveted nothing that was Frank Shabata's. The spirit he hadmet in music was his own. Frank Shabata had never found it; wouldnever find it if he lived beside it a thousand years; would havedestroyed it if he had found it, as Herod slew the innocents, asRome slew the martyrs. 

SAN--CTA MARI-I-I-A, wailed Raoul from the organ loft;

O--RA PRO NO-O-BIS!

And it did not occur to Emil that any one had ever reasoned thusbefore, that music had ever before given a man this equivocalrevelation. 

The confirmation service followed the Mass. When it was over, thecongregation thronged about the newly confirmed. The girls, andeven the boys, were kissed and embraced and wept over. All theaunts and grandmothers wept with joy. The housewives had much adoto tear themselves away from the general rejoicing and hurry backto their kitchens. The country parishioners were staying in townfor dinner, and nearly every house in Sainte-Agnes entertainedvisitors that day. Father Duchesne, the bishop, and the visitingpriests dined with Fabien Sauvage, the banker. Emil and FrankShabata were both guests of old Moise Marcel. After dinner Frankand old Moise retired to the rear room of the saloon to playCalifornia Jack and drink their cognac, and Emil went over to thebanker's with Raoul, who had been asked to sing for the bishop. 

At three o'clock, Emil felt that he could stand it no longer. Heslipped out under cover of "The Holy City, " followed by Malvina'swistful eye, and went to the stable for his mare. He was at thatheight of excitement from which everything is foreshortened, fromwhich life seems short and simple, death very near, and the soulseems to soar like an eagle. As he rode past the graveyard he lookedat the brown hole in the earth where Amedee was to lie, and feltno horror. That, too, was beautiful, that simple doorway intoforgetfulness. The heart, when it is too much alive, aches forthat brown earth, and ecstasy has no fear of death. It is the oldand the poor and the maimed who shrink from that brown hole; itswooers are found among the young, the passionate, the gallant-hearted. It was not until he had passed the graveyard that Emil realizedwhere he was going. It was the hour for saying good-bye. It mightbe the last time that he would see her alone, and today he couldleave her without rancor, without bitterness. 

Everywhere the grain stood ripe and the hot afternoon was full ofthe smell of the ripe wheat, like the smell of bread baking in anoven. The breath of the wheat and the sweet clover passed him likepleasant things in a dream. He could feel nothing but the sense ofdiminishing distance. It seemed to him that his mare was flying, or running on wheels, like a railway train. The sunlight, flashingon the window-glass of the big red barns, drove him wild with joy. He was like an arrow shot from the bow. His life poured itselfout along the road before him as he rode to the Shabata farm. 

When Emil alighted at the Shabatas' gate, his horse was in a lather. He tied her in the stable and hurried to the house. It was empty. She might be at Mrs. Hiller's or with Alexandra. But anythingthat reminded him of her would be enough, the orchard, the mulberrytree. . . When he reached the orchard the sun was hanging low overthe wheatfield. Long fingers of light reached through the applebranches as through a net; the orchard was riddled and shot withgold; light was the reality, the trees were merely interferencesthat reflected and refracted light. Emil went softly down betweenthe cherry trees toward the wheatfield. When he came to the corner, he stopped short and put his hand over his mouth. Marie was lyingon her side under the white mulberry tree, her face half hidden inthe grass, her eyes closed, her hands lying limply where they hadhappened to fall. She had lived a day of her new life of perfectlove, and it had left her like this. Her breast rose and fellfaintly, as if she were asleep. Emil threw himself down besideher and took her in his arms. The blood came back to her cheeks, her amber eyes opened slowly, and in them Emil saw his own faceand the orchard and the sun. "I was dreaming this, " she whispered, hiding her face against him, "don't take my dream away!"

VII

When Frank Shabata got home that night, he found Emil's mare inhis stable. Such an impertinence amazed him. Like everybody else, Frank had had an exciting day. Since noon he had been drinking toomuch, and he was in a bad temper. He talked bitterly to himselfwhile he put his own horse away, and as he went up the path andsaw that the house was dark he felt an added sense of injury. Heapproached quietly and listened on the doorstep. Hearing nothing, he opened the kitchen door and went softly from one room to another. Then he went through the house again, upstairs and down, with nobetter result. He sat down on the bottom step of the box stairwayand tried to get his wits together. In that unnatural quiet therewas no sound but his own heavy breathing. Suddenly an owl beganto hoot out in the fields. Frank lifted his head. An idea flashedinto his mind, and his sense of injury and outrage grew. He wentinto his bedroom and took his murderous 405 Winchester from thecloset. 

When Frank took up his gun and walked out of the house, he had notthe faintest purpose of doing anything with it. He did not believethat he had any real grievance. But it gratified him to feel likea desperate man. He had got into the habit of seeing himself alwaysin desperate straits. His unhappy temperament was like a cage; hecould never get out of it; and he felt that other people, his wifein particular, must have put him there. It had never more thandimly occurred to Frank that he made his own unhappiness. Thoughhe took up his gun with dark projects in his mind, he would havebeen paralyzed with fright had he known that there was the slightestprobability of his ever carrying any of them out. 

Frank went slowly down to the orchard gate, stopped and stood fora moment lost in thought. He retraced his steps and looked throughthe barn and the hayloft. Then he went out to the road, where hetook the foot-path along the outside of the orchard hedge. Thehedge was twice as tall as Frank himself, and so dense that onecould see through it only by peering closely between the leaves. He could see the empty path a long way in the moonlight. His mindtraveled ahead to the stile, which he always thought of as hauntedby Emil Bergson. But why had he left his horse?

At the wheatfield corner, where the orchard hedge ended and thepath led across the pasture to the Bergsons', Frank stopped. Inthe warm, breathless night air he heard a murmuring sound, perfectlyinarticulate, as low as the sound of water coming from a spring, where there is no fall, and where there are no stones to fret it. Frank strained his ears. It ceased. He held his breath and beganto tremble. Resting the butt of his gun on the ground, he partedthe mulberry leaves softly with his fingers and peered throughthe hedge at the dark figures on the grass, in the shadow of themulberry tree. It seemed to him that they must feel his eyes, that they must hear him breathing. But they did not. Frank, whohad always wanted to see things blacker than they were, for oncewanted to believe less than he saw. The woman lying in the shadowmight so easily be one of the Bergsons' farm-girls. . . . Againthe murmur, like water welling out of the ground. This time heheard it more distinctly, and his blood was quicker than his brain. He began to act, just as a man who falls into the fire begins toact. The gun sprang to his shoulder, he sighted mechanically andfired three times without stopping, stopped without knowing why. Either he shut his eyes or he had vertigo. He did not see anythingwhile he was firing. He thought he heard a cry simultaneous withthe second report, but he was not sure. He peered again throughthe hedge, at the two dark figures under the tree. They had fallena little apart from each other, and were perfectly still--No, not quite; in a white patch of light, where the moon shone throughthe branches, a man's hand was plucking spasmodically at the grass. 

Suddenly the woman stirred and uttered a cry, then another, andanother. She was living! She was dragging herself toward thehedge! Frank dropped his gun and ran back along the path, shaking, stumbling, gasping. He had never imagined such horror. Thecries followed him. They grew fainter and thicker, as if she werechoking. He dropped on his knees beside the hedge and crouchedlike a rabbit, listening; fainter, fainter; a sound like a whine;again--a moan--another--silence. Frank scrambled to his feet andran on, groaning and praying. From habit he went toward the house, where he was used to being soothed when he had worked himself intoa frenzy, but at the sight of the black, open door, he started back. He knew that he had murdered somebody, that a woman was bleedingand moaning in the orchard, but he had not realized before thatit was his wife. The gate stared him in the face. He threw hishands over his head. Which way to turn? He lifted his tormentedface and looked at the sky. "Holy Mother of God, not to suffer!She was a good girl--not to suffer!"

Frank had been wont to see himself in dramatic situations; butnow, when he stood by the windmill, in the bright space between thebarn and the house, facing his own black doorway, he did not seehimself at all. He stood like the hare when the dogs are approachingfrom all sides. And he ran like a hare, back and forth about thatmoonlit space, before he could make up his mind to go into thedark stable for a horse. The thought of going into a doorway wasterrible to him. He caught Emil's horse by the bit and led it out. He could not have buckled a bridle on his own. After two or threeattempts, he lifted himself into the saddle and started for Hanover. If he could catch the one o'clock train, he had money enough toget as far as Omaha. 

While he was thinking dully of this in some less sensitized partof his brain, his acuter faculties were going over and over thecries he had heard in the orchard. Terror was the only thing thatkept him from going back to her, terror that she might still beshe, that she might still be suffering. A woman, mutilated andbleeding in his orchard--it was because it was a woman that hewas so afraid. It was inconceivable that he should have hurt awoman. He would rather be eaten by wild beasts than see her moveon the ground as she had moved in the orchard. Why had she beenso careless? She knew he was like a crazy man when he was angry. She had more than once taken that gun away from him and held it, when he was angry with other people. Once it had gone off whilethey were struggling over it. She was never afraid. But, whenshe knew him, why hadn't she been more careful? Didn't she haveall summer before her to love Emil Bergson in, without taking suchchances? Probably she had met the Smirka boy, too, down there inthe orchard. He didn't care. She could have met all the men on theDivide there, and welcome, if only she hadn't brought this horroron him. 

There was a wrench in Frank's mind. He did not honestly believe thatof her. He knew that he was doing her wrong. He stopped his horseto admit this to himself the more directly, to think it out the moreclearly. He knew that he was to blame. For three years he had beentrying to break her spirit. She had a way of making the best ofthings that seemed to him a sentimental affectation. He wanted hiswife to resent that he was wasting his best years among these stupidand unappreciative people; but she had seemed to find the peoplequite good enough. If he ever got rich he meant to buy her prettyclothes and take her to California in a Pullman car, and treat herlike a lady; but in the mean time he wanted her to feel that life wasas ugly and as unjust as he felt it. He had tried to make her lifeugly. He had refused to share any of the little pleasures she was soplucky about making for herself. She could be gay about the leastthing in the world; but she must be gay! When she first came to him, her faith in him, her adoration--Frank struck the mare with his fist. Why had Marie made him do this thing; why had she brought this uponhim? He was overwhelmed by sickening misfortune. All at once heheard her cries again--he had forgotten for a moment. "Maria, " hesobbed aloud, "Maria!"

When Frank was halfway to Hanover, the motion of his horse broughton a violent attack of nausea. After it had passed, he rode onagain, but he could think of nothing except his physical weaknessand his desire to be comforted by his wife. He wanted to get intohis own bed. Had his wife been at home, he would have turned andgone back to her meekly enough. 

VIII

When old Ivar climbed down from his loft at four o'clock the nextmorning, he came upon Emil's mare, jaded and lather-stained, herbridle broken, chewing the scattered tufts of hay outside the stabledoor. The old man was thrown into a fright at once. He put themare in her stall, threw her a measure of oats, and then set outas fast as his bow-legs could carry him on the path to the nearestneighbor. 

"Something is wrong with that boy. Some misfortune has come uponus. He would never have used her so, in his right senses. It isnot his way to abuse his mare, " the old man kept muttering, as hescuttled through the short, wet pasture grass on his bare feet. 

While Ivar was hurrying across the fields, the first long rays ofthe sun were reaching down between the orchard boughs to those twodew-drenched figures. The story of what had happened was writtenplainly on the orchard grass, and on the white mulberries that hadfallen in the night and were covered with dark stain. For Emil thechapter had been short. He was shot in the heart, and had rolledover on his back and died. His face was turned up to the sky andhis brows were drawn in a frown, as if he had realized that somethinghad befallen him. But for Marie Shabata it had not been so easy. One ball had torn through her right lung, another had shatteredthe carotid artery. She must have started up and gone toward thehedge, leaving a trail of blood. There she had fallen and bled. From that spot there was another trail, heavier than the first, where she must have dragged herself back to Emil's body. Oncethere, she seemed not to have struggled any more. She had liftedher head to her lover's breast, taken his hand in both her own, and bled quietly to death. She was lying on her right side in aneasy and natural position, her cheek on Emil's shoulder. On herface there was a look of ineffable content. Her lips were parteda little; her eyes were lightly closed, as if in a day-dream or alight slumber. After she lay down there, she seemed not to havemoved an eyelash. The hand she held was covered with dark stains, where she had kissed it. 

But the stained, slippery grass, the darkened mulberries, told onlyhalf the story. Above Marie and Emil, two white butterflies fromFrank's alfalfa-field were fluttering in and out among the interlacingshadows; diving and soaring, now close together, now far apart;and in the long grass by the fence the last wild roses of the yearopened their pink hearts to die. 

When Ivar reached the path by the hedge, he saw Shabata's riflelying in the way. He turned and peered through the branches, falling upon his knees as if his legs had been mowed from underhim. "Merciful God!" he groaned. 

Alexandra, too, had risen early that morning, because of her anxietyabout Emil. She was in Emil's room upstairs when, from the window, she saw Ivar coming along the path that led from the Shabatas'. He was running like a spent man, tottering and lurching from sideto side. Ivar never drank, and Alexandra thought at once that oneof his spells had come upon him, and that he must be in a very badway indeed. She ran downstairs and hurried out to meet him, tohide his infirmity from the eyes of her household. The old manfell in the road at her feet and caught her hand, over which hebowed his shaggy head. "Mistress, mistress, " he sobbed, "it hasfallen! Sin and death for the young ones! God have mercy uponus!"

PART V. Alexandra

I

Ivar was sitting at a cobbler's bench in the barn, mending harnessby the light of a lantern and repeating to himself the 101st Psalm. It was only five o'clock of a mid-October day, but a storm hadcome up in the afternoon, bringing black clouds, a cold wind andtorrents of rain. The old man wore his buffalo-skin coat, andoccasionally stopped to warm his fingers at the lantern. Suddenlya woman burst into the shed, as if she had been blown in, accompanied bya shower of rain-drops. It was Signa, wrapped in a man's overcoatand wearing a pair of boots over her shoes. In time of troubleSigna had come back to stay with her mistress, for she was the onlyone of the maids from whom Alexandra would accept much personalservice. It was three months now since the news of the terriblething that had happened in Frank Shabata's orchard had first runlike a fire over the Divide. Signa and Nelse were staying on withAlexandra until winter. 

"Ivar, " Signa exclaimed as she wiped the rain from her face, "doyou know where she is?"

The old man put down his cobbler's knife. "Who, the mistress?"

"Yes. She went away about three o'clock. I happened to look outof the window and saw her going across the fields in her thin dressand sun-hat. And now this storm has come on. I thought she wasgoing to Mrs. Hiller's, and I telephoned as soon as the thunderstopped, but she had not been there. I'm afraid she is out somewhereand will get her death of cold. "

Ivar put on his cap and took up the lantern. "JA, JA, we will see. I will hitch the boy's mare to the cart and go. "

Signa followed him across the wagon-shed to the horses' stable. She was shivering with cold and excitement. "Where do you supposeshe can be, Ivar?"

The old man lifted a set of single harness carefully from its peg. "How should I know?"

"But you think she is at the graveyard, don't you?" Signa persisted. "So do I. Oh, I wish she would be more like herself! I can'tbelieve it's Alexandra Bergson come to this, with no head aboutanything. I have to tell her when to eat and when to go to bed. "

"Patience, patience, sister, " muttered Ivar as he settled the bitin the horse's mouth. "When the eyes of the flesh are shut, theeyes of the spirit are open. She will have a message from thosewho are gone, and that will bring her peace. Until then we mustbear with her. You and I are the only ones who have weight withher. She trusts us. "

"How awful it's been these last three months. " Signa held thelantern so that he could see to buckle the straps. "It don't seemright that we must all be so miserable. Why do we all have to bepunished? Seems to me like good times would never come again. "

Ivar expressed himself in a deep sigh, but said nothing. He stoopedand took a sandburr from his toe. 

"Ivar, " Signa asked suddenly, "will you tell me why you go barefoot?All the time I lived here in the house I wanted to ask you. Is itfor a penance, or what?"

"No, sister. It is for the indulgence of the body. From my youthup I have had a strong, rebellious body, and have been subject toevery kind of temptation. Even in age my temptations are prolonged. It was necessary to make some allowances; and the feet, as Iunderstand it, are free members. There is no divine prohibitionfor them in the Ten Commandments. The hands, the tongue, the eyes, the heart, all the bodily desires we are commanded to subdue; butthe feet are free members. I indulge them without harm to anyone, even to trampling in filth when my desires are low. They arequickly cleaned again. "

Signa did not laugh. She looked thoughtful as she followed Ivar outto the wagon-shed and held the shafts up for him, while he backedin the mare and buckled the hold-backs. "You have been a goodfriend to the mistress, Ivar, " she murmured. 

"And you, God be with you, " replied Ivar as he clambered into thecart and put the lantern under the oilcloth lap-cover. "Now fora ducking, my girl, " he said to the mare, gathering up the reins. 

As they emerged from the shed, a stream of water, running off thethatch, struck the mare on the neck. She tossed her head indignantly, then struck out bravely on the soft ground, slipping back again andagain as she climbed the hill to the main road. Between the rainand the darkness Ivar could see very little, so he let Emil's marehave the rein, keeping her head in the right direction. When theground was level, he turned her out of the dirt road upon the sod, where she was able to trot without slipping. 

Before Ivar reached the graveyard, three miles from the house, the storm had spent itself, and the downpour had died into a soft, dripping rain. The sky and the land were a dark smoke color, andseemed to be coming together, like two waves. When Ivar stoppedat the gate and swung out his lantern, a white figure rose frombeside John Bergson's white stone. 

The old man sprang to the ground and shuffled toward the gatecalling, "Mistress, mistress!"

Alexandra hurried to meet him and put her hand on his shoulder. "TYST! Ivar. There's nothing to be worried about. I'm sorry ifI've scared you all. I didn't notice the storm till it was on me, and I couldn't walk against it. I'm glad you've come. I am sotired I didn't know how I'd ever get home. "

Ivar swung the lantern up so that it shone in her face. "GUD!You are enough to frighten us, mistress. You look like a drownedwoman. How could you do such a thing!"

Groaning and mumbling he led her out of the gate and helped herinto the cart, wrapping her in the dry blankets on which he hadbeen sitting. 

Alexandra smiled at his solicitude. "Not much use in that, Ivar. You will only shut the wet in. I don't feel so cold now; but I'mheavy and numb. I'm glad you came. "

Ivar turned the mare and urged her into a sliding trot. Her feetsent back a continual spatter of mud. 

Alexandra spoke to the old man as they jogged along through thesullen gray twilight of the storm. "Ivar, I think it has done megood to get cold clear through like this, once. I don't believeI shall suffer so much any more. When you get so near the dead, they seem more real than the living. Worldly thoughts leave one. Ever since Emil died, I've suffered so when it rained. Now thatI've been out in it with him, I shan't dread it. After you onceget cold clear through, the feeling of the rain on you is sweet. It seems to bring back feelings you had when you were a baby. Itcarries you back into the dark, before you were born; you can'tsee things, but they come to you, somehow, and you know them andaren't afraid of them. Maybe it's like that with the dead. Ifthey feel anything at all, it's the old things, before they wereborn, that comfort people like the feeling of their own bed doeswhen they are little. "

"Mistress, " said Ivar reproachfully, "those are bad thoughts. Thedead are in Paradise. "

Then he hung his head, for he did not believe that Emil was inParadise. 

When they got home, Signa had a fire burning in the sitting-roomstove. She undressed Alexandra and gave her a hot footbath, whileIvar made ginger tea in the kitchen. When Alexandra was in bed, wrapped in hot blankets, Ivar came in with his tea and saw thatshe drank it. Signa asked permission to sleep on the slat loungeoutside her door. Alexandra endured their attentions patiently, but she was glad when they put out the lamp and left her. As shelay alone in the dark, it occurred to her for the first time thatperhaps she was actually tired of life. All the physical operationsof life seemed difficult and painful. She longed to be free fromher own body, which ached and was so heavy. And longing itselfwas heavy: she yearned to be free of that. 

As she lay with her eyes closed, she had again, more vividly thanfor many years, the old illusion of her girlhood, of being liftedand carried lightly by some one very strong. He was with hera long while this time, and carried her very far, and in his armsshe felt free from pain. When he laid her down on her bed again, she opened her eyes, and, for the first time in her life, she sawhim, saw him clearly, though the room was dark, and his face wascovered. He was standing in the doorway of her room. His whitecloak was thrown over his face, and his head was bent a littleforward. His shoulders seemed as strong as the foundations of theworld. His right arm, bared from the elbow, was dark and gleaming, like bronze, and she knew at once that it was the arm of themightiest of all lovers. She knew at last for whom it was she hadwaited, and where he would carry her. That, she told herself, wasvery well. Then she went to sleep. 

Alexandra wakened in the morning with nothing worse than a hard coldand a stiff shoulder. She kept her bed for several days, and itwas during that time that she formed a resolution to go to Lincolnto see Frank Shabata. Ever since she last saw him in the courtroom, Frank's haggard face and wild eyes had haunted her. The trial hadlasted only three days. Frank had given himself up to the policein Omaha and pleaded guilty of killing without malice and withoutpremeditation. The gun was, of course, against him, and the judgehad given him the full sentence, --ten years. He had now been inthe State Penitentiary for a month. 

Frank was the only one, Alexandra told herself, for whom anythingcould be done. He had been less in the wrong than any of them, and he was paying the heaviest penalty. She often felt that sheherself had been more to blame than poor Frank. From the time theShabatas had first moved to the neighboring farm, she had omittedno opportunity of throwing Marie and Emil together. Because sheknew Frank was surly about doing little things to help his wife, she was always sending Emil over to spade or plant or carpenterfor Marie. She was glad to have Emil see as much as possible of anintelligent, city-bred girl like their neighbor; she noticed thatit improved his manners. She knew that Emil was fond of Marie, butit had never occurred to her that Emil's feeling might be differentfrom her own. She wondered at herself now, but she had neverthought of danger in that direction. If Marie had been unmarried, --oh, yes! Then she would have kept her eyes open. But the mere fact thatshe was Shabata's wife, for Alexandra, settled everything. That she wasbeautiful, impulsive, barely two years older than Emil, these facts hadhad no weight with Alexandra. Emil was a good boy, and only bad boysran after married women. 

Now, Alexandra could in a measure realize that Marie was, afterall, Marie; not merely a "married woman. " Sometimes, when Alexandrathought of her, it was with an aching tenderness. The moment shehad reached them in the orchard that morning, everything was clearto her. There was something about those two lying in the grass, something in the way Marie had settled her cheek on Emil's shoulder, that told her everything. She wondered then how they could havehelped loving each other; how she could have helped knowing thatthey must. Emil's cold, frowning face, the girl's content--Alexandrahad felt awe of them, even in the first shock of her grief. 

The idleness of those days in bed, the relaxation of body whichattended them, enabled Alexandra to think more calmly than she haddone since Emil's death. She and Frank, she told herself, were leftout of that group of friends who had been overwhelmed by disaster. She must certainly see Frank Shabata. Even in the courtroom herheart had grieved for him. He was in a strange country, he had nokinsmen or friends, and in a moment he had ruined his life. Beingwhat he was, she felt, Frank could not have acted otherwise. Shecould understand his behavior more easily than she could understandMarie's. Yes, she must go to Lincoln to see Frank Shabata. 

The day after Emil's funeral, Alexandra had written to Carl Linstrum;a single page of notepaper, a bare statement of what had happened. She was not a woman who could write much about such a thing, andabout her own feelings she could never write very freely. She knewthat Carl was away from post-offices, prospecting somewhere in theinterior. Before he started he had written her where he expectedto go, but her ideas about Alaska were vague. As the weeks wentby and she heard nothing from him, it seemed to Alexandra thather heart grew hard against Carl. She began to wonder whether shewould not do better to finish her life alone. What was left oflife seemed unimportant. 

II

Late in the afternoon of a brilliant October day, Alexandra Bergson, dressed in a black suit and traveling-hat, alighted at the Burlingtondepot in Lincoln. She drove to the Lindell Hotel, where she hadstayed two years ago when she came up for Emil's Commencement. Inspite of her usual air of sureness and self-possession, Alexandrafelt ill at ease in hotels, and she was glad, when she went to theclerk's desk to register, that there were not many people in thelobby. She had her supper early, wearing her hat and black jacketdown to the dining-room and carrying her handbag. After suppershe went out for a walk. 

It was growing dark when she reached the university campus. Shedid not go into the grounds, but walked slowly up and down thestone walk outside the long iron fence, looking through at the youngmen who were running from one building to another, at the lightsshining from the armory and the library. A squad of cadets weregoing through their drill behind the armory, and the commands oftheir young officer rang out at regular intervals, so sharp andquick that Alexandra could not understand them. Two stalwart girlscame down the library steps and out through one of the iron gates. As they passed her, Alexandra was pleased to hear them speakingBohemian to each other. Every few moments a boy would come runningdown the flagged walk and dash out into the street as if he wererushing to announce some wonder to the world. Alexandra felt agreat tenderness for them all. She wished one of them would stopand speak to her. She wished she could ask them whether they hadknown Emil. 

As she lingered by the south gate she actually did encounter oneof the boys. He had on his drill cap and was swinging his booksat the end of a long strap. It was dark by this time; he did notsee her and ran against her. He snatched off his cap and stoodbareheaded and panting. "I'm awfully sorry, " he said in a bright, clear voice, with a rising inflection, as if he expected her tosay something. 

"Oh, it was my fault!" said Alexandra eagerly. "Are you an oldstudent here, may I ask?"

"No, ma'am. I'm a Freshie, just off the farm. Cherry County. Were you hunting somebody?"

"No, thank you. That is--" Alexandra wanted to detain him. "Thatis, I would like to find some of my brother's friends. He graduatedtwo years ago. "

"Then you'd have to try the Seniors, wouldn't you? Let's see; Idon't know any of them yet, but there'll be sure to be some of themaround the library. That red building, right there, " he pointed. 

"Thank you, I'll try there, " said Alexandra lingeringly. 

"Oh, that's all right! Good-night. " The lad clapped his cap onhis head and ran straight down Eleventh Street. Alexandra lookedafter him wistfully. 

She walked back to her hotel unreasonably comforted. "What a nicevoice that boy had, and how polite he was. I know Emil was alwayslike that to women. " And again, after she had undressed and wasstanding in her nightgown, brushing her long, heavy hair by theelectric light, she remembered him and said to herself, "I don'tthink I ever heard a nicer voice than that boy had. I hope hewill get on well here. Cherry County; that's where the hay is sofine, and the coyotes can scratch down to water. "

At nine o'clock the next morning Alexandra presented herselfat the warden's office in the State Penitentiary. The warden wasa German, a ruddy, cheerful-looking man who had formerly been aharness-maker. Alexandra had a letter to him from the German bankerin Hanover. As he glanced at the letter, Mr. Schwartz put awayhis pipe. 

"That big Bohemian, is it? Sure, he's gettin' along fine, " saidMr. Schwartz cheerfully. 

"I am glad to hear that. I was afraid he might be quarrelsome andget himself into more trouble. Mr. Schwartz, if you have time, Iwould like to tell you a little about Frank Shabata, and why I aminterested in him. "

The warden listened genially while she told him briefly somethingof Frank's history and character, but he did not seem to findanything unusual in her account. 

"Sure, I'll keep an eye on him. We'll take care of him all right, "he said, rising. "You can talk to him here, while I go to see tothings in the kitchen. I'll have him sent in. He ought to be donewashing out his cell by this time. We have to keep 'em clean, youknow. "

The warden paused at the door, speaking back over his shoulder toa pale young man in convicts' clothes who was seated at a desk inthe corner, writing in a big ledger. 

"Bertie, when 1037 is brought in, you just step out and give thislady a chance to talk. "

The young man bowed his head and bent over his ledger again. 

When Mr. Schwartz disappeared, Alexandra thrust her black-edgedhandkerchief nervously into her handbag. Coming out on the streetcarshe had not had the least dread of meeting Frank. But since shehad been here the sounds and smells in the corridor, the look of themen in convicts' clothes who passed the glass door of the warden'soffice, affected her unpleasantly. 

The warden's clock ticked, the young convict's pen scratchedbusily in the big book, and his sharp shoulders were shaken everyfew seconds by a loose cough which he tried to smother. It was easyto see that he was a sick man. Alexandra looked at him timidly, but he did not once raise his eyes. He wore a white shirt underhis striped jacket, a high collar, and a necktie, very carefullytied. His hands were thin and white and well cared for, and he hada seal ring on his little finger. When he heard steps approachingin the corridor, he rose, blotted his book, put his pen in the rack, and left the room without raising his eyes. Through the door heopened a guard came in, bringing Frank Shabata. 

"You the lady that wanted to talk to 1037? Here he is. Be on yourgood behavior, now. He can set down, lady, " seeing that Alexandraremained standing. "Push that white button when you're throughwith him, and I'll come. "

The guard went out and Alexandra and Frank were left alone. 

Alexandra tried not to see his hideous clothes. She tried to lookstraight into his face, which she could scarcely believe was his. It was already bleached to a chalky gray. His lips were colorless, his fine teeth looked yellowish. He glanced at Alexandra sullenly, blinked as if he had come from a dark place, and one eyebrow twitchedcontinually. She felt at once that this interview was a terribleordeal to him. His shaved head, showing the conformation of hisskull, gave him a criminal look which he had not had during thetrial. 

Alexandra held out her hand. "Frank, " she said, her eyes fillingsuddenly, "I hope you'll let me be friendly with you. I understandhow you did it. I don't feel hard toward you. They were more toblame than you. "

Frank jerked a dirty blue handkerchief from his trousers pocket. He had begun to cry. He turned away from Alexandra. "I neverdid mean to do not'ing to dat woman, " he muttered. "I never meanto do not'ing to dat boy. I ain't had not'ing ag'in' dat boy. Ialways like dat boy fine. An' then I find him--" He stopped. Thefeeling went out of his face and eyes. He dropped into a chairand sat looking stolidly at the floor, his hands hanging looselybetween his knees, the handkerchief lying across his striped leg. He seemed to have stirred up in his mind a disgust that had paralyzedhis faculties. 

"I haven't come up here to blame you, Frank. I think they weremore to blame than you. " Alexandra, too, felt benumbed. 

Frank looked up suddenly and stared out of the office window. "Iguess dat place all go to hell what I work so hard on, " he saidwith a slow, bitter smile. "I not care a damn. " He stopped andrubbed the palm of his hand over the light bristles on his headwith annoyance. "I no can t'ink without my hair, " he complained. "I forget English. We not talk here, except swear. "

Alexandra was bewildered. Frank seemed to have undergone a changeof personality. There was scarcely anything by which she couldrecognize her handsome Bohemian neighbor. He seemed, somehow, notaltogether human. She did not know what to say to him. 

"You do not feel hard to me, Frank?" she asked at last. 

Frank clenched his fist and broke out in excitement. "I not feelhard at no woman. I tell you I not that kind-a man. I never hitmy wife. No, never I hurt her when she devil me something awful!"He struck his fist down on the warden's desk so hard that heafterward stroked it absently. A pale pink crept over his neck andface. "Two, t'ree years I know dat woman don' care no more 'boutme, Alexandra Bergson. I know she after some other man. I knowher, oo-oo! An' I ain't never hurt her. I never would-a donedat, if I ain't had dat gun along. I don' know what in hell makeme take dat gun. She always say I ain't no man to carry gun. Ifshe been in dat house, where she ought-a been--But das a foolishtalk. "

Frank rubbed his head and stopped suddenly, as he had stoppedbefore. Alexandra felt that there was something strange in the wayhe chilled off, as if something came up in him that extinguishedhis power of feeling or thinking. 

"Yes, Frank, " she said kindly. "I know you never meant to hurtMarie. "

Frank smiled at her queerly. His eyes filled slowly with tears. "You know, I most forgit dat woman's name. She ain't got no namefor me no more. I never hate my wife, but dat woman what make medo dat--Honest to God, but I hate her! I no man to fight. Idon' want to kill no boy and no woman. I not care how many menshe take under dat tree. I no care for not'ing but dat fine boyI kill, Alexandra Bergson. I guess I go crazy sure 'nough. "

Alexandra remembered the little yellow cane she had found in Frank'sclothes-closet. She thought of how he had come to this country agay young fellow, so attractive that the prettiest Bohemian girlin Omaha had run away with him. It seemed unreasonable that lifeshould have landed him in such a place as this. She blamed Mariebitterly. And why, with her happy, affectionate nature, shouldshe have brought destruction and sorrow to all who had loved her, even to poor old Joe Tovesky, the uncle who used to carry her aboutso proudly when she was a little girl? That was the strangest thingof all. Was there, then, something wrong in being warm-heartedand impulsive like that? Alexandra hated to think so. But therewas Emil, in the Norwegian graveyard at home, and here was FrankShabata. Alexandra rose and took him by the hand. 

"Frank Shabata, I am never going to stop trying until I get youpardoned. I'll never give the Governor any peace. I know I canget you out of this place. "

Frank looked at her distrustfully, but he gathered confidence fromher face. "Alexandra, " he said earnestly, "if I git out-a here, I not trouble dis country no more. I go back where I come from;see my mother. "

Alexandra tried to withdraw her hand, but Frank held on to itnervously. He put out his finger and absently touched a buttonon her black jacket. "Alexandra, " he said in a low tone, lookingsteadily at the button, "you ain' t'ink I use dat girl awful badbefore--"

"No, Frank. We won't talk about that, " Alexandra said, pressinghis hand. "I can't help Emil now, so I'm going to do what I canfor you. You know I don't go away from home often, and I came uphere on purpose to tell you this. "

The warden at the glass door looked in inquiringly. Alexandranodded, and he came in and touched the white button on his desk. The guard appeared, and with a sinking heart Alexandra saw Frankled away down the corridor. After a few words with Mr. Schwartz, she left the prison and made her way to the street-car. She hadrefused with horror the warden's cordial invitation to "go throughthe institution. " As the car lurched over its uneven roadbed, backtoward Lincoln, Alexandra thought of how she and Frank had beenwrecked by the same storm and of how, although she could come outinto the sunlight, she had not much more left in her life thanhe. She remembered some lines from a poem she had liked in herschooldays:--

 Henceforth the world will only be A wider prison-house to me, --

and sighed. A disgust of life weighed upon her heart; some suchfeeling as had twice frozen Frank Shabata's features while theytalked together. She wished she were back on the Divide. 

When Alexandra entered her hotel, the clerk held up one fingerand beckoned to her. As she approached his desk, he handed her atelegram. Alexandra took the yellow envelope and looked at it inperplexity, then stepped into the elevator without opening it. Asshe walked down the corridor toward her room, she reflected thatshe was, in a manner, immune from evil tidings. On reaching herroom she locked the door, and sitting down on a chair by the dresser, opened the telegram. It was from Hanover, and it read:--

 Arrived Hanover last night. Shall wait here until you come. Please hurry. CARL LINSTRUM. 

Alexandra put her head down on the dresser and burst into tears. 

III

The next afternoon Carl and Alexandra were walking across the fieldsfrom Mrs. Hiller's. Alexandra had left Lincoln after midnight, and Carl had met her at the Hanover station early in the morning. After they reached home, Alexandra had gone over to Mrs. Hiller'sto leave a little present she had bought for her in the city. Theystayed at the old lady's door but a moment, and then came out tospend the rest of the afternoon in the sunny fields. 

Alexandra had taken off her black traveling suit and put ona white dress; partly because she saw that her black clothes madeCarl uncomfortable and partly because she felt oppressed by themherself. They seemed a little like the prison where she had wornthem yesterday, and to be out of place in the open fields. Carlhad changed very little. His cheeks were browner and fuller. Helooked less like a tired scholar than when he went away a year ago, but no one, even now, would have taken him for a man of business. His soft, lustrous black eyes, his whimsical smile, would be lessagainst him in the Klondike than on the Divide. There are alwaysdreamers on the frontier. 

Carl and Alexandra had been talking since morning. Her letter hadnever reached him. He had first learned of her misfortune froma San Francisco paper, four weeks old, which he had picked up ina saloon, and which contained a brief account of Frank Shabata'strial. When he put down the paper, he had already made up hismind that he could reach Alexandra as quickly as a letter could;and ever since he had been on the way; day and night, by the fastestboats and trains he could catch. His steamer had been held backtwo days by rough weather. 

As they came out of Mrs. Hiller's garden they took up their talkagain where they had left it. 

"But could you come away like that, Carl, without arranging things?Could you just walk off and leave your business?" Alexandra asked. 

Carl laughed. "Prudent Alexandra! You see, my dear, I happen tohave an honest partner. I trust him with everything. In fact, it's been his enterprise from the beginning, you know. I'm in itonly because he took me in. I'll have to go back in the spring. Perhaps you will want to go with me then. We haven't turned upmillions yet, but we've got a start that's worth following. Butthis winter I'd like to spend with you. You won't feel that weought to wait longer, on Emil's account, will you, Alexandra?"

Alexandra shook her head. "No, Carl; I don't feel that way aboutit. And surely you needn't mind anything Lou and Oscar say now. They are much angrier with me about Emil, now, than about you. They say it was all my fault. That I ruined him by sending him tocollege. "

"No, I don't care a button for Lou or Oscar. The moment I knewyou were in trouble, the moment I thought you might need me, it alllooked different. You've always been a triumphant kind of person. "Carl hesitated, looking sidewise at her strong, full figure. "Butyou do need me now, Alexandra?"

She put her hand on his arm. "I needed you terribly when ithappened, Carl. I cried for you at night. Then everything seemedto get hard inside of me, and I thought perhaps I should never carefor you again. But when I got your telegram yesterday, then--thenit was just as it used to be. You are all I have in the world, you know. "

Carl pressed her hand in silence. They were passing the Shabatas'empty house now, but they avoided the orchard path and took onethat led over by the pasture pond. 

"Can you understand it, Carl?" Alexandra murmured. "I have hadnobody but Ivar and Signa to talk to. Do talk to me. Can youunderstand it? Could you have believed that of Marie Tovesky? Iwould have been cut to pieces, little by little, before I wouldhave betrayed her trust in me!"

Carl looked at the shining spot of water before them. "Maybe shewas cut to pieces, too, Alexandra. I am sure she tried hard; theyboth did. That was why Emil went to Mexico, of course. And he wasgoing away again, you tell me, though he had only been home threeweeks. You remember that Sunday when I went with Emil up tothe French Church fair? I thought that day there was some kindof feeling, something unusual, between them. I meant to talk toyou about it. But on my way back I met Lou and Oscar and got soangry that I forgot everything else. You mustn't be hard on them, Alexandra. Sit down here by the pond a minute. I want to tellyou something. "

They sat down on the grass-tufted bank and Carl told her how he hadseen Emil and Marie out by the pond that morning, more than a yearago, and how young and charming and full of grace they had seemedto him. "It happens like that in the world sometimes, Alexandra, "he added earnestly. "I've seen it before. There are women whospread ruin around them through no fault of theirs, just by beingtoo beautiful, too full of life and love. They can't help it. People come to them as people go to a warm fire in winter. I usedto feel that in her when she was a little girl. Do you rememberhow all the Bohemians crowded round her in the store that day, whenshe gave Emil her candy? You remember those yellow sparks in hereyes?"

Alexandra sighed. "Yes. People couldn't help loving her. PoorFrank does, even now, I think; though he's got himself in sucha tangle that for a long time his love has been bitterer than hishate. But if you saw there was anything wrong, you ought to havetold me, Carl. "

Carl took her hand and smiled patiently. "My dear, it was somethingone felt in the air, as you feel the spring coming, or a storm insummer. I didn't SEE anything. Simply, when I was with those twoyoung things, I felt my blood go quicker, I felt--how shall I sayit?--an acceleration of life. After I got away, it was all toodelicate, too intangible, to write about. "

Alexandra looked at him mournfully. "I try to be more liberalabout such things than I used to be. I try to realize that we arenot all made alike. Only, why couldn't it have been Raoul Marcel, or Jan Smirka? Why did it have to be my boy?"

"Because he was the best there was, I suppose. They were both thebest you had here. "

The sun was dropping low in the west when the two friends rose andtook the path again. The straw-stacks were throwing long shadows, the owls were flying home to the prairie-dog town. When they cameto the corner where the pastures joined, Alexandra's twelve youngcolts were galloping in a drove over the brow of the hill. 

"Carl, " said Alexandra, "I should like to go up there with you inthe spring. I haven't been on the water since we crossed the ocean, when I was a little girl. After we first came out here I usedto dream sometimes about the shipyard where father worked, and alittle sort of inlet, full of masts. " Alexandra paused. After amoment's thought she said, "But you would never ask me to go awayfor good, would you?"

"Of course not, my dearest. I think I know how you feel about thiscountry as well as you do yourself. " Carl took her hand in bothhis own and pressed it tenderly. 

"Yes, I still feel that way, though Emil is gone. When I was onthe train this morning, and we got near Hanover, I felt somethinglike I did when I drove back with Emil from the river that time, in the dry year. I was glad to come back to it. I've lived herea long time. There is great peace here, Carl, and freedom. . . . I thought when I came out of that prison, where poor Frank is, that I should never feel free again. But I do, here. " Alexandratook a deep breath and looked off into the red west. 

"You belong to the land, " Carl murmured, "as you have always said. Now more than ever. "

"Yes, now more than ever. You remember what you once said aboutthe graveyard, and the old story writing itself over? Only it iswe who write it, with the best we have. "

They paused on the last ridge of the pasture, overlooking thehouse and the windmill and the stables that marked the site of JohnBergson's homestead. On every side the brown waves of the earthrolled away to meet the sky. 

"Lou and Oscar can't see those things, " said Alexandra suddenly. "Suppose I do will my land to their children, what difference willthat make? The land belongs to the future, Carl; that's the wayit seems to me. How many of the names on the county clerk's platwill be there in fifty years? I might as well try to will thesunset over there to my brother's children. We come and go, butthe land is always here. And the people who love it and understandit are the people who own it--for a little while. "

Carl looked at her wonderingly. She was still gazing into the west, and in her face there was that exalted serenity that sometimes cameto her at moments of deep feeling. The level rays of the sinkingsun shone in her clear eyes. 

"Why are you thinking of such things now, Alexandra?"

"I had a dream before I went to Lincoln--But I will tell you aboutthat afterward, after we are married. It will never come true, now, in the way I thought it might. " She took Carl's arm and theywalked toward the gate. "How many times we have walked this pathtogether, Carl. How many times we will walk it again! Does it seemto you like coming back to your own place? Do you feel at peacewith the world here? I think we shall be very happy. I haven'tany fears. I think when friends marry, they are safe. We don'tsuffer like--those young ones. " Alexandra ended with a sigh. 

They had reached the gate. Before Carl opened it, he drew Alexandrato him and kissed her softly, on her lips and on her eyes. 

She leaned heavily on his shoulder. "I am tired, " she murmured. "I have been very lonely, Carl. "

They went into the house together, leaving the Divide behind them, under the evening star. Fortunate country, that is one day toreceive hearts like Alexandra's into its bosom, to give them outagain in the yellow wheat, in the rustling corn, in the shiningeyes of youth!