f. Like the
people who lived in them, they had no claims to anything bordering on
the refinements or virtues of life. No, they were mockeries, just as
was the pretense of virtue which inspired the building of the new
church by a gathering of men and women, who, if they had their
deserts, would be attending divine service within the four walls of
the penitentiary.

She laughed. Really it was absurdly laughable. Life in this wonderful
valley was something in the nature of a tragic farce. The worst thing
was that the farce of it all could only be detected by the looker-on.
There was no real farce in these people, only tragedy--a very painful
and hideous tragedy.

On her way down she passed the great pine which for years had served
as a beacon marking the village. It was higher up on the slope of the
valley, but its vast trunk and towering crest would not be denied.

Helen gazed up at it, wondering, as many times she had gazed and
wondered before. It was a marvelous survival of primaeval life. It was
so vast, so forbidding. Its torn crown, so sparse and weary looking,
its barren trunk, too, dark and forbidding against the dwarfed
surroundings of green, were they not a fit beacon for the village
below? It suggested to her imagination a giant, mouldering skeleton of
some dreadfully evil creature. How could virtue maintain in its
vicinity?

She laughed again as she thought. She knew there was some weird old
legend associated with it, some old Indian folklore. But that left no
impression of awe upon her laughter-loving nature.

Farther on the new church came into view. It was in the course of
construction, and at once her attention became absorbed. Here was a
scene which thoroughly appealed to her. Here was movement, and--life.
Here was food for her most appreciative observation.

It was a Church. Not a Meeting House. Not even a Chapel. She felt
quite sure, had the villagers had their way, it would have been called
a Cathedral. There was nothing half-hearted about these people. They
recognized the necessity of giving their souls a lift up, with a view
to an after life, and they meant to do it thoroughly.

They had no intention of mending their ways. They had no thought of
abandoning any of their pursuits or pleasures, be they never so
deplorable. But they felt that something had better be done toward
assurance of their futures. A Meeting House suggested something too
inadequate to meet their special case. It was right