dden landscape seemed strangely
dear to her, she was full of unspeakable homesickness and longing for
she knew not what--a life she had not known and could not imagine, some
perfect friend who called her silently through space and was able to
lift her out of the entanglements of existence.

The regular throbbing of a horse's feet approaching along the road at
a brisk walk became quite distinct. Emeline's sensations were suspended
while she listened. From the direction of St. James she saw a figure
on horseback coming between the dusky parallel fence rows. The sound of
walking ceased in front of the house, and presently another sound crept
barely as high as the attic window. It was the cry of a violin, sweet
and piercing, like some celestial voice. It took her unawares. She
fled from it to her place beside Roxy and covered her ears with the
bedclothes.

Roxy turned with a yawn and aroused from sleep. She rose to her elbow
and drew in her breath, giggling. The violin courted like an angel,
finding secret approaches to the girl who lay rigid with her ears
stopped.

"Cousin Emeline!" whispered Roxy, "do you hear that?"

"What is it?" inquired Emeline, revealing no emotion.

[Illustration: Brother Strang serenading 134]

"It's Brother Strang serenading."

"How do you know?"

"Because he is the only man on Beaver who can play the fiddle like
that." Roxy gave herself over to unrestrained giggling. "A man fifty
years old!"

"I don't believe it," responded Emeline, sharply.

"Don't believe he is nearly fifty? He told his age to the elders."

"I haven't a word of praise for him, but he isn't an old man. He doesn't
look more than thirty-five."

"To hear that fiddle you'd think he wasn't twenty," chuckled Roxy. "It's
the first time Brother Strang ever came serenading down this road."

He did not stay long, but went, trailing music deliciously into the
distance. Emeline knew how he rode, with the bridle looped over his bow
arm. She was quieted and lay in peace, sinking to sleep almost before
the faint, far notes could no longer be heard.

From that night her uncle Cheeseman's family changed their attitude
towards her. She felt it as a withdrawal of intimacy, though it
expressed reverential awe. Especially did her Mormon aunt Mahala take
little tasks out of her hands and wait upon her, while her legal aunt
looked at her curiously. It was natural for Roxy to talk to Billy
Wentworth across the fence, but it was not na