ss had come to her--and a delicious sense
of success. She, womanlike, began to rejoice in her power. She heard of
John Morrell's marriage to a young western girl, about this time, with
genuine delight. Her sky was clearing of all regrets.

"Morrell was in the office to-day," Brace told his sister one evening,
"it seemed to me a bit brash for him to lay it on so thick about his
happiness and all that sort of rot."

"Brace!"

"Well, it might be all right to another fellow, but it sounded out of
tune, somehow, to me. He says she is the kind that has flung herself
body and soul into love; I wager she's a fool."

Lynda looked serious at once.

"I hope not," she said thoughtfully, "and she'll be happier with John,
in the long run, if she has some reservations. I did not think that
once; I do now."

"But--you, Lyn? You had reservations to burn."

"I had--too many. That was where the mistake began."

"You--do not regret?"

Lynda came close to him.

"Brace, I regret nothing. I am learning that every step leads to the
next--if you don't stumble. If you do--you have to pick yourself up and
go back. If John learned from me, I, too, have learned from him. I'm
going to try to--love his wife."

"I bet she's a cross, somehow, between a cowboy and an idiot. John
protested too much about her charms. She's got a sister--sounds a bit to
me as if Morrell had married them both. She's coming to live with them
after awhile. When I fall in love, it's going to be with an orphan out
of an asylum."

Lynda laughed and gave her brother a hug. Then she said:

"Our circle is widening and, by the way Brace, I'm going to begin to
entertain a little."

"Good Lord, Lyn!"

"Oh! modestly--until I can use my stiff little wings. A dinner now and
then and a luncheon occasionally when I know enough nice women to make a
decent showing. Clothes and women, when adopted late in life, are
difficult. But oh! Brace, it is great--this blessed home life of mine!
The coming away from my beloved work to something even better."

* * * * *

The pulse of a city throbs faster in the winter. All the vitality of
well-nourished men and women is at its fullest, while for them who fall
below the normal, the necessity of the struggle for existence keys them
to a high pitch. Not so in the deep, far mountain places. There, the
inhabitants hide from the elements and withdraw into themselves. For
weeks at a time no human being ventu