o compare with old Goodloets
now, and nothing at all like it," said Nickols, as he looked first up
the hill to the Town and down the hill to the Settlement. "I know that
it is the first spot in America to express what the full grown nation is
going to be. When we add beauty to the materially perfected mode of
existence we are enjoying, life will be too short in the living. That
schoolhouse ought to produce some results in art cultures in the infant
mind of Goodloets."

"Yes, America is learning that the foundation of its national existence,
trait upon trait, must be laid in the lives of the children," said Mr.
Goodloe, slowly, and he smiled as across from the Little House came wee
Susan's exquisite treble in a waltz song which was backed up by Mother
Spurlock's bumble and Charlotte's none too accurate accompaniment. And
we all smiled with him.

Always it seemed to me I was with him and a part of a number of people
who felt the radiance of his loveliness, and not once had I for a second
come into personal touch with him. I had, like the rest, got my smiles
and friendliness from the dark eyes under dull gold, but the door to the
land in which I had been with Tristan when he sang his death song had
vanished and there were no traces of its portals. The only sign that was
between him and me was his continued evasion of setting a date for the
dedication of the chapel. He always answered inquiries by saying that
the opening of the school must come first and when the dedication was
mentioned he never looked in my direction. My soul seemed to be standing
still and listening for something that never came.

And then Mr. Jeffries arrived on the scene of action.

That night of Billy's ball for the magnate, who was having the time of
his gray-headed life under Billy's and Nickols' enthusiastic direction,
the strange alien thing that had been developed in my depths, part
unrest and part rebellion, since I had first looked into the eyes of the
young Methodist parson, who had intruded himself and his chapel into my
existence, got its death blow. In my presence Nickols made his formal
request of the Reverend Mr. Goodloe to officiate at our marriage.

"Of course, Greg, old fellow, you are going to marry us next Tuesday,
aren't you?" asked Nickols, as we stood on the steps of the Poplars
after dinner, chatting with him as he was leaving to go over to the
chapel while we went out to the dance. "I suppose there is some sort of
formal wa