the girl followed him, feeling acutely disappointed
and humiliated, which state of mind quickly became one of rebellious
self-esteem. She guessed that other men thought big shucks of her
anyway. And with this reflection she tried to comfort herself.

A week or ten days later, Bancroft came downstairs one morning early
and found the ground covered with hoar-frost, though the sun had already
warmed the air. Elder Conklin, in his shirt-sleeves, was cleaning his
boots by the wood pile. When he had finished with the brush, but not
a moment sooner, he put it down near his boarder. His greeting, a mere
nod, had not prepared the schoolmaster for the question:

"Kin you drive kyows?"

"I think so; I've done it as a boy."

"Wall, to-day's Saturday. There ain't no school, and I've some cattle
to drive to the scales in Eureka. They're in the brush yonder, ef you'd
help. That is, supposin' you've nothin' to do."

"No. I've nothing else to do, and shall be glad to help you if I can."

Miss Loo pouted when she heard that her lover would be away the greater
part of the day, but it pleased her to think that her father had asked
him for his help, and she resigned herself, stipulating only that he
should come right back from Eureka.

After breakfast the two started. Their way lay along the roll of ground
which looked down upon the creek. They rode together in silence, until
the Elder asked:

"You ain't a Member, air you?"

"No."

"That's bad. I kinder misdoubted it las' Sunday; but I wasn't sartin. Ef
your callin' and election ain't sure, I guess Mr. Crew oughter talk to
you."

These phrases were jerked out with long pauses separating them, and then
the Elder was ominously silent.

In various ways Bancroft attempted to draw him into conversation--in
vain. The Elder answered in monosyllables, or not at all. Presently he
entered the woods on the left, and soon halted before the shoot-entrance
to a roughly-built corral.

"The kyows is yonder," he remarked; "ef you'll drive them hyar, I'll
count them as they come in."

The schoolmaster turned his horse's head in the direction pointed
out. He rode for some minutes through the wood without seeing a single
animal. Under ordinary circumstances this would have surprised him;
but now he was absorbed in thinking of Conklin and his peculiarities,
wondering at his habit of silence and its cause:

"Has he nothing to say? Or does he think a great deal without being able
to find words