ot know that when the blood of man or beast is up, when the
heart thunders fast in conflict or in the chase, there is no pain. A man
can get so excited over some trifle that a bullet will plow through his
flesh without his noticing it. Pain comes afterward. Pain is always an
awakening.

Natalie was excited at the sudden presence of Lew and at the wonder of
his tale. In that galaxy of words that painted to her a climbing fairy
movement of growth and achievement the single fact of Folly shot through
her and away, but the wound stayed. For the moment she did not know that
she was stricken, nor did Lewis guess. And so it happened that that
whole day passed like a flash of happy light.

Natalie, in her wisdom, had gone ahead to warn Mrs. Leighton and mammy
of Lewis's coming. Even so, when the two women took him into their long
embrace, he knew by the throbbing of their hearts how deeply joy can
shake foundations that have stood firm against the heaviest shocks of
grief.

Gip and the cart, with Natalie at the helm, whisked Lewis back to the
homestead. What memories of galloping ponies and a far, wide world that
ride awakened they did not speak in words, but the light that was in
their faces when at the homestead gate they said good night was the
light that shines for children walking hand in hand in the morning land
of faith.

Natalie could not eat that night. She slipped away early to bed--to the
little, old-fashioned bed that had been Aunt Jed's. It, too, was a
four-poster; but so pompous a name overweighted its daintiness. So light
were its trimmings in white, so snowy the mounds of its pillows and the
narrow reach of its counterpane, that it seemed more like a
nesting-place for untainted dreams than the sensible, stocky little bed
it was.

Natalie went to bed and to sleep, but scarcely had the last gleam faded
from the western sky when she awoke. A sudden terror seized her. The
pillow beneath her cheek was wet. Upon her heart a great weight pressed
down and down. For a moment she rebelled. She had gone to sleep in the
lap of her happiest day. How could she wake to grief? A single word
tapped at her brain: Folly, Folly. And then she knew--she knew the wound
her happy day had left; and wide-eyed, fighting for breath, her arms
outstretched, she felt the slow birth of the pain that lives and lives
and grows with life.

Natalie cried easily for happiness, and so the tears that she could
spare to grief were few. Not for