billowed away to the skyline. "This is our
home, and I love it because it is ours. I shall always have you--I
know now, Steve. And I'm the happiest, most contented woman in all
the wide world."

She drew away with a sudden movement, her face aglow with love and
happiness. She was pulling at his arm with all her might.

"Where are you going?" he asked, surprised.

"Over to the camp--to Journey's End. I must tell Annie Warren just as
soon as ever I can find her."

A PRAIRIE IDYL

A beautiful moonlight night early in September, the kind of night one
remembers for years, when the air is not too cold to be pleasant, and
yet has a suggestion of the frost that is to come. A kind of air that
makes one think thoughts which cannot be put into words, that calls up
sensations one cannot describe; an air which breeds restless energy;
an air through which Mother Nature seems to speak, saying--"Hasten,
children; life is short and you have much to do."

It was nearing ten o'clock, and a full moon lit up the rolling prairie
country of South Dakota for miles, when the first team of a little
train of six moved slowly out of the dark shadow blots thrown by the
trees at the edge of the Big Sioux, advancing along a dim trail
towards the main road. From the first wagon sounded the suggestive
rattle of tin cooking-utensils, and the clatter of covers on an old
cook stove. Next behind was a load piled high with a compound heap of
tents, tennis nets, old carpets, hammocks, and the manifold
unclassified paraphernalia which twenty young people will collect for
a three weeks' outing.

These wagons told their own story. "Camp Eden," the fanciful name
given to the quiet, shady spot where the low chain of hills met the
river; the spot where the very waters seemed to lose themselves in
their own cool depths, and depart sighing through the shallows
beyond,--Camp Eden was deserted, and a score of very tired campers
were reluctantly returning to home and work.

Last in the line and steadily losing ground, came a single trap
carrying two people. One of them, a young man with the face of a
dreamer, was speaking. The spell of the night was upon him.

"So this is the last of our good time--and now for work." He stopped
the horse and stood up in the wagon. "Good-bye, little Camp Eden.
Though I won't be here, yet whenever I see the moon a-shining so--and
the air feeling frosty and warm and restless--and the corn stalks
whitening, and the you