erself great freedom, she spoke almost with levity.

"You have asked me a difficult question," she said. "Offhand I should
say you must ride every morning, sleep some part of the early afternoon,
and--oh, well, ride the next morning again, I reckon." And she smiled
across at him. "Are you thinking of staying with us?"

He nodded soberly. Then he went on. "What else must one do?" he asked.
"Is that all?" His eyes were still twinkling.

Helen herself was sober now. "No," she replied, "not quite. One must
think a little, work a little, do a little good. We are very close
together down here--very close to one another--and very, very far from
the rest of the world. So we try to make each day register something of
value, not alone for ourselves, but for our neighbors as well." She was
silent. "We are a distinct race of people," she concluded, after a
moment.

He turned his head. "I like all that," he declared, simply. "Though I'm
afraid I won't do--much as I dislike to admit it. You see, I've never
learned to live much in the interest of others." He regarded her with
steady eyes.

Helen liked him for that, too. Evidently he had had too much breeding,
and, from his remark, knew it. So she took it upon herself at least to
offer him encouragement.

"You will learn," she rejoined, smiling. "Everybody does."

With this, Helen discreetly changed the subject. She entered upon less
intimate matters, and soon, sweeping off into a rhapsody over the
country--its attraction for Easterners, its grip on Westerners--she was
chatting with a freedom typical of the country. For by now she was
interested, and for some inexplicable reason she found herself drawn to
the smiling stranger.

Also, Pat was interested. But not in the things which appealed to his
mistress. Pat was pondering the sullen nature of the horse beside him,
and as they rode slowly toward town he stole frequent sidelong glances
at his unfriendly companion. But all he could arrive at was that, while
appearing peaceable enough, this horse was the most self-satisfied
animal chance had ever thrown his way. After a time he ceased all
friendly advances, such as pressing close beside him and now and again
playfully nipping at him, and took up his own affairs, finding deep
cause for satisfaction in the return of his breath after the long race,
and in the passing of pain from his strained legs, to say nothing of the
complete absence of flying papers around him.

They crossed