ees whose roots
struck deep in the deep black loam. After supper Mat and Beverly went
down to fish in the muddy creek. Fishing was Beverly's sport and solace
everywhere. I was to follow them as soon as I had finished my little
chores. The men were scattered about the valley and the camp was
deserted. Something in the woodsy greenness of the quiet spot made it
seem like home to me--the log house among the elms and cottonwoods at
the fort. As I finished my task I wondered how a big, fine house such as
I had seen in pictures would look nestled among these beautiful trees. I
wanted a home here some day, a real home. It was such a pleasant place
even in its loneliness.

To the west the ground sloped up gently toward the horizon-line,
shutting off the track of the trail beyond the ridge. A sudden longing
came over me to see what to-morrow's journey would offer, bringing back
the sense of being _shut in_ that had made me lose interest in fishes
that wouldn't play leap-frog on the sand-bars. And with it came a
longing to be alone.

Instead of following Mat and Beverly to the creek I went out to the top
of the swell and stood long in the April twilight, looking beyond the
rim of the valley toward the darkening prairies with the great splendor
of the sunset's afterglow deepening to richest crimson above the
purpling shadows.

Oh, many a time since that night have I looked upon the Kansas plains
and watched the grandeur of coloring that only the Almighty artist ever
paints for human eyes. And always I come back, in memory, to that April
evening. The soul of a man must have looked out through the little boy's
eyes on that night, and a new mile-stone was set there, making a
landmark in my life trail. For when I turned toward the darkening east
and the shadowy camp where the evening fires gleamed redly in the dusk,
I knew then, as well as I know now, if I could only have put it into
words, that I was not the same little boy who had run up the long slope
to see what lay next in to-morrow's journey.

I walked slowly back to the camp and sat down beside Esmond Clarenden.

"What are you thinking about, Gail?" he asked, as I stared at the fire.

"I wish I knew what would happen next," I replied.

Jondo was lying at full length on the grass, his elbow bent, and his
hand supporting his head. What a wonderful head it was with its crown of
softly curling brown hair!

"I wonder if we have done wrong by the children, Clarenden," the bi