think you can move the world."

"I found something I want to speak of besides. Oh, well--I'm not ashamed
of caring for Marjie."

"No, no, my boy. You are right. You found the best thing in the world. I
found it myself once, by a moonlit sea, not on the summer prairie; but
it is the same eternal blessing. Now go on."

"Well, father, you said the place was uninhabited. But it isn't.
Somebody is about there now."

"Did you see any one, or is it just a wayside camp for movers going out
on the trail?"

"I am not sure that I saw any one, and yet--"

"Tell me all you know, and all you suspect, and why you have
conclusions," he said gravely.

"I caught just a glimpse, a mere flirt of a red blanket with a white
centre, the kind Jean Pahusca used to wear. It was between the corner of
the house and the hazel-brush thicket, as if some one were making for
the timber."

"Did you follow it?"

"N--no, I could hardly say I saw anything; but thinking about it
afterwards, I am sure somebody was getting out of sight."

"I see." My father looked straight at me. I knew his mind, and I blushed
and pulled at the tassel of the window cord. "Be careful. The county has
to pay for curtain fixtures. What else?"

"Well, inside the cabin there were fresh ashes and a half-burned stick
on the hearth. By a chair under the table I picked this up." I handed
him the bow of purple ribbon with the flashing pin.

"It must be movers, and as to that red flash of color, are you real sure
it was not just a part of the rose-hued world out there?" He smiled as
he spoke.

"Father, that bow was on Lettie Conlow's head not an hour before it was
lost out there. She found out where we were going, and she put out
northwest on Tell Mapleson's pony. She may have taken the river path. It
is the shortest way. Why should she go out there?"

"Do some thinking for yourself. You are a man now, twenty-one, and one
day over. You can unravel this part." He sat with impenetrable face,
waiting for me to speak.

"I do not know. Lettie Conlow has always been silly about--about the
boys. All the young folks say she likes me, has always liked me."

"How much cause have you given her? Be sure your memory is clear." My
father spoke sternly.

"Father," I stood before him now, "I am a man, as you say, and I have
come up through a boyhood no better nor worse than the other boys whom
you know here. We were a pretty decent gang even before you went away to
the War. After