to ears urban trained--as they stood
out distinct by contrast with a silence otherwise absolute as the
grave.

... The sharp bark of the coyote, near or far away; soft as an echo,
the gently cadenced tremolo of the prairie owl. To these, the mere
opening numbers of the nightly concerts, the two exotics would listen
wonderingly; then, of a sudden, typical, indescribable, lonely as
death, there would boom the cry which, as often as it was repeated,
recalled to Ichabod's mind the words of the little man in the
land-office, "loneliest sound on earth"--the sound which, once heard,
remains forever vivid--the night call of the prairie rooster. Even
now, new and fascinating as it all was, at the last wailing cry the
two occupants of the tent would reach out in the darkness until their
hands met. Not till then would they sleep.

In May, they finished and moved their few belongings into the odd
little two-room house. True to instinct, Ichabod had built a
fireplace, though looking in any direction until the earth met the
sky, not a tree was visible; and Camilla had added a cozy reading
corner, which soon developed into a sleeping corner,--out-of-door
occupations in sun and wind being insurmountable obstacles to mental
effort.

But what matter! One straggling little folio, the local newspaper,
made its way into the corner each week--and that was all. They had cut
themselves off from the world, deliberately, irrevocably. It was but
natural that they should sleep. All dead things sleep!

Month after month slipped by, and the first ripple of local excitement
and curiosity born of their advent subsided. Ichabod knew nothing of
farming, but to learn was simple. It needed only that he watch what
his neighbors were doing, and proceed to do likewise. He learned soon
to hold a breaking-plough in the tough prairie sod, and to swear
mightily when it balked at an unusually tough root. As well, he came
to know the oily feel of flax as he scattered it by hand over the
brown breaking. Later he learned the smell of buckwheat blossoms, and
the delicate green coloring of sod corn, greener by contrast with its
dark background.

Nor was Camilla idle. The dresses she had brought with her, dainty
creations of foreign make, soon gave way to domestic productions of
gingham and print. In these, the long brown hands neatly gloved, she
struggled with a tiny garden, becoming in ratio as passed the weeks,
warmer, browner, and healthier.

"Are you hap