ld have read Corneille, and
should be able to combat Saint Simonism. As the dinner drew to a close,
Leston lifted his chair round to where his wife sat and interpreted the
bright talk at the other side of the table.

I suspect that Saint Simon had lost some of his hold upon the marquis
since his arrival in a country where life was more simple and the
manner of thought more practical. But he dated the decline of his
socialistic opinions from his discussion with Priscilla Haines.

The next Sunday morning he strolled out of the Le Vert House, breathing
the sweet air perfumed with the blossoms of a thousand apple trees. For
what yard is there in New Geneva that has not apple trees and
grapevines? And every family in the village keeps a cow, and every cow
wears a bell, and every bell is on a different key; so that the three
things that penetrated the senses of the marquis on this Sunday morning
were the high hills that stood sentinels on every hand about the valley
in which New Geneva stood, the smell of the superabundant apple
blossoms, and the _tinkle_ and _tankle_ and _tonkle_ of hundreds of
bells on the cows grazing on the "commons," as the open lots were
called. On this almost painfully quiet morning D'Entremont noticed the
people going one way and another to the early Sunday schools in the
three churches. Just as he came to the pump that stood in front of the
"public square" he met Priscilla. At her heels were ten ragged little
ruffians, whom she was accustomed to have come to her house every
Sunday morning and walk with her to Sunday school.

"You are then a Sister of Charity also," he said in French, bowing low
with sincere admiration as he passed her. And then to himself the young
marquis reflected: "We Saint Simonists theorize and build castles in
Spain for poor people, but we do not take hold of them." He walked
clear round the square, and then followed the steps of Priscilla into
the little brick Methodist church which in that day had neither steeple
nor bell nor anything churchlike about it except the two arched front
windows. There was not even a fence to inclose it, nor an evergreen nor
an ivy about it; only a few straggling black locusts. For the
puritanism of New England was never so hard a puritanism as the
Methodist puritanism of a generation ago in the West--a puritanism that
forbade jewelry, that stripped the artificial flowers out of the
bonnets of country girls, that expelled, and even yet expels, a