ere was pride but no amusement in her smile;
for she had a quick enthusiasm, and the reticence of Insular Britain has
no great place in that country.

"Still," she said; "all these people coming in must make a difference."

The man's face grew grave. "Yes," he said; "there will have to be a
change, and it is coming. We are only outwardly democratic just now, and
don't seem to know that men are worth more than millionaires. We have let
them get their grip on our industries, and too much of our land, until
what would feed a thousand buys canvas-backs, and wines from Europe for
one. Isn't what we raise in California good enough for Americans?"

Miss Torrance's eyes twinkled. "Some of it isn't very nice, and they don't
live on canvas-backs," she said. "Still, it seems to me that other men
have talked like that quite a thousand years ago; and, while I don't know
anyone better at breaking a broncho or cutting out a steer, straightening
these affairs out is too big a contract for you."

The man laughed pleasantly. "That's all right, but I can do a little in
the place I belong to, and the change is beginning there. Is it good for
this country that one man should get rich feeding his cattle on leagues of
prairie where a hundred families could make a living growing wheat?"

"Now," said the girl drily, "I know why you and my father haven't got on.
Your opinions wouldn't please him, Larry."

"No," said the man, with a trace of embarrassment, "I don't think they
would; and that's just why we've got to convince him and the others that
what we want to do is for the good of the country."

Hetty Torrance laughed. "It's going to be hard. No man wants to believe
anything is good when he sees it will take quite a pile of dollars out of
his pocket."

The man said nothing, and Hetty fancied he was not desirous of following
up the topic, while as they sat silent a big locomotive backed another
great train of emigrant cars in. Then the tramp of feet commenced again,
and once more a frowsy host of outcasts from the overcrowded lands poured
into the depot. Wagons piled with baggage had preceded them, but many
dragged their pitiful belongings along with them, and the murmur of their
alien voices rang through the bustle of the station. Hetty Torrance was
not unduly fanciful, but those footsteps caused her, as she afterwards
remembered, a vague concern. She believed, as her father did, that America
was made for the Americans; but it was evid