th Jim Travers; she had
turned the whole question over in her mind that afternoon, weighing
it with judicial impartiality, supposing all manner of situations to
try out her own emotions, and she had come to the conclusion that
Travers was merely an incident in her life, a somewhat inspiring
incident, perhaps, but an incident none the less. The real thing--the
vital matter which demanded some exceptional protest--was the narrow
and ever narrowing horizon of her father, a horizon bounded only by
material gain. Against this narrowing band of outlook her vigorous
spirit, with its dumb, insistent stretchings forth to the infinite,
rebelled. It was not a matter of filial duty; it was not a matter of
love; to her it was a matter of existence. She saw her ideals dimly
enough at best, and she would burst every cord of affection and
convention rather than allow them to be submerged in the grey,
surrounding murk of materialism.

Perhaps it was custom and the subtle pullings of association that
drew her feet down the path across the bench to the edge of the
stream that gurgled gently in the still night. She stood on the
gravel by the water's edge, packed firm by the wagon-wheels of
twenty-five years, and watched her image as it swayed gently in the
smoothly running current. There was no moon, but the stars shone down
in their midnight brilliance, and the water lay white and glistening
against the black vagueness of the bushy banks. She stooped and let
it fondle her fingers. It was warm and smooth...But it was shallow at
the ford...Farther up it was quite deep... The stars blinked a
strange challenge from the sky, as though to say, "Here is the tree
of knowledge, if you dare to drink thereof."

At length she turned her back on the stream and retraced her steps up
the path. The house loomed very sombre and still in the quiet night.
A light shone dimly from her father's window. At intervals a deep,
contented sighing came from the cows in the barnyard. She took the
path past the house and down to the corral, where she paused, her ear
arrested by the steady drone of milking. A lantern sitting on the
black earth, cast a little circle of light, and threw a docile cow in
dreadful silhouette against the barn. And by that dim light Beulah
discerned the bent form of her mother, milking.

"Mother, this is too much!" the girl exclaimed.

Her mother started and looked up. "You're leaving us, Beulah?" she
asked. There was no reproach in her