t," with a quaver in her voice, "don't you want me to
go, Uncle Joe?"

"I don't want you to put yourself in a position to get hurt."

"What--what would anybody hurt me for?" she asked, wide-eyed.

His answer to the question was a shrug. Then, as though to himself,
"They may be bigger than I give them credit for."

He had not refused to let her go, but he had chilled her enthusiasm
somewhat so they were silent for a time, each occupied with his own
thoughts.

As Mormon Joe, with his hands clasped about his knee, his pipe dead in
his mouth, sat motionless in the starlight, he ceased to be conscious of
the beauty of the night, of the air that touched his face, soft and cool
as the caress of a gentle woman, of the moist sweet odors of bursting
buds and tender shoots--he was thinking only that the child who had run
into his arms for safety had come to be the center of the universe to
him. He could not imagine life without her. He had mended her manners,
corrected her speech, bought her books of study to which she had
diligently applied herself in the long hours while she herded sheep, and
nothing else in life had given him so much pleasure as to watch her mind
develop and her taste improve.

Anybody that would hurt her! Instinctively his hands clenched. Aloud he
said:

"Go to your party, Katie, and I hope with all my heart it will be
everything you anticipate."

CHAPTER IV

DISILLUSIONMENT

It was the most ambitious affair that had been attempted in Prouty--this
function at the Prouty House. The printed invitations had made a deep
impression; besides, wild rumors were flying about as to the elaborate
costumes that were to be worn by the socially prominent.

It was whispered that Mrs. Abram Pantin, wife of the wealthy capitalist
from Keokuk, now "settled in their midst," was to be seen in electric
blue silk with real lace collar and cuffs; while Mrs. Sudds, wife of a
near-governor, who had moved to Prouty from another part of the state,
was to appear in her lansdowne wedding dress. Mrs. Myron Neifkins, too,
if report could be believed, was to be gowned in peach-blow satin worked
in French knots.

He was a dull clod indeed who could not feel the tremors in the air that
momentous Saturday and by night there was not tying space at any
hitching rack.

If the ball loomed so large to the townfolks, it may be assumed that
Kate's anticipation was no less. As a matter of fact, she could scarcely
sleep for thi