he first wild glance about her, Celia buried her face in her
hands, resolutely shutting out the view for fear of bursting into
uncontrollable tears.

Seth, seeing this, rose from his knees slowly, lamely, as if suddenly
very tired, and went about his preparations for their evening meal.

Men with less courage than it required to perform this simple duty
have stood up to be shot at.

Knowing full well that with each act of humble servitude he sank lower
and lower in the estimation of the one living creature in whose
estimation he wished to stand high, he once more knelt on the hearth,
placed potatoes in the ashes, raked a little pile of coals together
and set the coffee pot on them.

He drew the small deal table out and put upon it two cups and saucers,
plates and forks for two. There was but one knife. That was for Celia.
A pocket knife was to serve for himself.

It had been his pleasure throughout his lonely days of waiting to
picture this first meal which Celia and he should eat together.

Never once had he dreamed that the realization could come so near
breaking a strong man's heart,--that things seemingly of small import
could stab with a thrust so knife-like.

He felt the color leave his cheek at the thought that he had failed to
provide a cloth for the table, not even a napkin. He fumbled at his
bandana, then hopelessly replaced it in his pocket. He grew cold at
the realization that every luxury to which she had been accustomed,
almost every necessity, was absent from that plain board.

He had counted on her love to overlook much.

It had overlooked nothing.

When all was in readiness he drew up a chair and begged her to be
seated.

He took the opposite chair and the meal proceeded in silence, broken
only by the wail of the wind and the crackle of the little dry twigs
that burned on the hearth.

"I am afraid of it," sighed Celia.

"Of what, sweet?" he asked, and she answered:

"I am afraid of the wind."

"There is nothing to be afraid of," he explained quickly. "It is only
the ordinary wind of the prairies. It ain't a cyclone. Cyclones nevah
come this way, neah to the forks of two rivers wheah we ah," and
waxing eloquent on this, his hobby, he began telling her of the great
and beautiful and prosperous city which was sometime to be built on
this spot; perhaps the very dugout in which they sat would form its
center. He talked enthusiastically of the tall steepled temples that
would be erected, o