ood while before the rails
were laid this far--a traveling preacher struck the town and warmed them
up with an old-style revival. They chipped in the money to build the
church in the fervor of the passing glow, and the preacher had it put
up--just as you see it, belfry and all.

"They even bought a bell for it, and it used to ding for the sheepmen
and railroaders, as long as their religion lasted. When it ran out, the
preacher moved on to fresh fields, and a rancher bought the bell to call
his hands to dinner. The respectable element of Comanche--that is, the
storekeepers, their wives, daughters and sons, and the clerks, and
others--hold a dance there now twice a week. That is their only
relaxation."

"It's a shame!" declared Mrs. Reed.

"Oh, I don't know," said the doctor easily.

"I'm _so_ disappointed in it!" said she.

"Because it represents itself as a church when it's something else?"
inquired the doctor softly. "Well, I shouldn't be, if I were you. It has
really nothing to be ashamed of, for the respectable are mightily in the
minority in Comanche, I can tell you, madam--that is, among the regular
inhabitants."

"Let's go over and look on," suggested William Bentley. "It may make
some of you gloomy people forget your future troubles for a while."

The party soon found that looking on exposed them to the contagion of
sociability. They were such wholesome-looking people at the gathering,
and their efforts to make the visitors who stood outside the door feel
at home and comfortable were so genuine, that reserve dissolved most
unaccountably.

It was not long before June's mother, her prejudices against such
frivolous and worldly use of a church blown away, was pigeoning around
with William Bentley. Likewise Mrs. Mann, the miller out of sight and
out of mind, stepped lightly with Horace, the lawyer, the sober black
bag doubled up and stored in the pocket of his coat, its handles
dangling like bridle-reins.

June alone was left unpaired, in company with the doctor and Miss
Horton, who asserted that they did not dance. Her heels were itching to
be clicking off that jolly two-step which the Italian fiddlers and
harpist played with such enticing swing. The school-teacher and the
sergeant were not with them, having gone out on some expedition of their
own among the allurements of Comanche.

But June hadn't long to bear the itch of impatience, for ladies were not
plentiful at the dance. Before anybody had time