enore, with the wise, penetrating eyes
of extreme youth.

"Lenore, I'll bet you've got a new beau up there," she declared.

Lenore flushed scarlet. She was less angry with her little sister than
with the incomprehensible fact of a playful word bringing the blood
stingingly to her neck and face.

"Kitty, you forget your manners," she said, sharply.

"Kit is fresh. She's an awful child," added Rose, with a superior air.

"I didn't say a thing," cried Kathleen, hotly. "Lenore, if it isn't
true, why'd you blush so red?"

"Hush, you silly children!" ordered the mother, reprovingly.

Lenore was glad to finish that meal and to get outdoors. She could smile
now at that shrewd and terrible Kitty, but recollection of her father's
keen eyes was confusing. Lenore felt there was really nothing to blush
for; still, she could scarcely tell her father that upon awakening this
morning she had found her mind made up--that only by going to the Bend
country could she determine the true state of her feelings. She simply
dared not accuse herself of being in unusually radiant spirits because
she was going to undertake a long, hard ride into a barren, desert
country.

The grave and thoughtful mood of last night had gone with her slumbers.
Often Lenore had found problems decided for her while she slept. On this
fresh, sweet summer morning, with the sun bright and warm, presaging a
hot and glorious day, Lenore wanted to run with the winds, to wade
through the alfalfa, to watch with strange and renewed pleasure the
waves of shadow as they went over the wheat. All her life she had known
and loved the fields of waving gold. But they had never been to her what
they had become overnight. Perhaps this was because it had been said
that the issue of the great war, the salvation of the world, and its
happiness, its hope, depended upon the millions of broad acres of golden
grain. Bread was the staff of life. Lenore felt that she was changing
and growing. If anything should happen to her brother Jim she would be
heiress to thousands of acres of wheat. A pang shot through her heart.
She had to drive the cold thought away. And she must learn--must know
the bigness of this question. The women of the country would be called
upon to help, to do their share.

She ran down through the grove and across the bridge, coming abruptly
upon Nash, her father's driver. He had the car out.

"Good morning," he said, with a smile, doffing his cap.

Lenore return