orse.

"Did you see father?" she asked, thinking as she spoke how little there
was for them to talk about.

"Why, no. What's the matter?" he returned quickly, pausing as if ready
to ride again at her word.

She laughed a little at his manner. "There is nothing the matter. He
just went over to see the Dean, that's all."

"I must have missed him crossing the meadow," returned Phil. "He always
goes around by the road."

Then, when he stood beside her, he added gently, "But there is something
the matter, Kitty. What is it? Lonesome for the bright lights?"

That was always Phil's way, she thought. He seemed always to know
instinctively her every mood and wish.

"Perhaps I was a little lonely," she admitted. "I am glad that you
came."

Then they were at the porch, and her ambitious brothers were telling
Phil in detail their all-absorbing designs against the peace of the
coyote tribe, and asking his advice. Mrs. Reid came to sit with them
a-while, and again the talk followed around the narrow circle of their
lives, until Kitty felt that she could bear no more. Then Mrs. Reid,
more merciful than she knew, sent the boys to bed and retired to her own
room.

"And so you are tired of us all, and want to go back," mused Phil,
breaking one of the long, silent periods that in these days seemed so
often to fall upon them when they found themselves alone.

"That's not quite fair, Phil," she returned gently. "You know it's not
that."

"Well, then, tired of this"--his gesture indicated the sweep of the
wide land--"tired of what we are and what we do?"

The girl stirred uneasily, but did not speak.

"I don't blame you," he continued, as if thinking aloud. "It must seem
mighty empty to those who don't really know it."

"And don't I know it?" challenged Kitty. "You seem to forget that I was
born here--that I have lived here almost as many years as you."

"But just the same you don't know," returned Phil gently. "You see,
dear, you knew it as a girl, the same as I did when I was a boy. But
now--well, I know it as a man, and you as a woman know something that
you think is very different."

Again that long silence lay a barrier between them. Then Kitty made the
effort, hesitatingly. "Do you love the life so very, very much, Phil?"

He answered quickly. "Yes, but I could love any life that suited you."

"No--no," she returned hurriedly, "that's not--I mean--Phil, why are you
so satisfied here? There is so little for a man