tural for them to share
so much furtive laughter, which ceased when Emeline approached. Uncle
Cheese-man himself paid more attention to his niece and spent much time
at the table explaining to her the Mormon situation on Beaver Island,
tracing the colony back to its secession from Brigham Young's party in
Illinois.

"Brother Strang was too large for them," said her uncle. "He can do
anything he undertakes to do."

The next Saturday Emeline refused to go to the Tabernacle. She gave no
reason and the family asked for none. Her caprices were as the gambols
of the paschal lamb, to be indulged and overlooked. Roxy offered to stay
with her, but she rejected companionship, promising her uncle and aunts
to lock herself within the cabin and hide if she saw men approaching
from any direction. The day was sultry for that climate, and of a vivid
clearness, and the sky dazzled. Emeline had never met any terrifying
Gentiles during her stay on the island, and she felt quite secure in
crossing the pasture and taking to the farm woods beyond. Her uncle's
cows had worn a path which descended to a run with partially grass-lined
channel. Beaver Island was full of brooks and springs. The children had
placed stepping-stones across this one. She was vaguely happy, seeing
the water swirl below her feet, hearing the cattle breathe at their
grazing; though in the path or on the log which she found at the edge
of the woods her face kept turning towards the town of St. James, as the
faces of the faithful turn towards Mecca. It was childish to think
of escaping the King of Beaver by merely staying away from his
exhortations. Emeline knew she was only parleying.

The green silence should have helped her to think, but she found herself
waiting--and doing nothing but waiting--for what might happen next. She
likened herself to a hunted rabbit palpitating in cover, unable to reach
any place of safety yet grateful for a moment's breathing. Wheels rolled
southward along the Galilee road. Meeting was out. She had the caprice
to remain where she was when the family wagon arrived, for it had been
too warm to walk to the Tabernacle. Roxy's voice called her, and as she
answered, Roxy skipped across the brook and ran to her.

"Cousin Emeline," the breathless girl announced, "here comes Mary French
to see you!"

Emeline stiffened upon the log.

"Where?"

Roxy glanced behind at a figure following her across the meadow.

"What does she want of me?" inqui