"Is it true that Mary is going to marry Pucelik this fall?" he asked her. "Who will you get to help you?"

"No one for the present. Ben will do all I can't do. Never mind us. We will pass a quiet winter, like an old country couple-as we are!" she said lightly.

Neil knew that she faced the winter with terror, but he had never seen her more in command of herself, or more the mistress of her own house than now, when she was preparing to become the servant of it. He had the feeling, which he never used to have, that her lightness cost her something.

"Don't forget us, but don't mope. Make lots of new friends. You'll never be twenty again. Take a chorus girl out to supper; a pretty one, mind! Don't bother about your allowance. If you got into a scrape, we could manage a little check to help out, could n't we, Mr. Forrester?"

The captain puffed and looked amused.

"I think we could, Neil; I think so. Don't get up, my boy. You must stay for dinner."

Neil said he could n't. He had n't finished packing, and he was leaving on the morning train.

"Then we must have a little something before you go." Captain For rester rose heavily, with the aid of his cane, and went into the dining-room. He brought back the decanter and with ceremony filled three glasses. Lifting his glass, he paused, as always, and blinked.

on the porch together where he had so often seen them stand to speed the parting guest. Touched and happy, he went down the hill. As he passed over the bridge his spirits suddenly fell. Would that chilling doubt always lie in wait for him down there in the mud where he had thrown his roses one morning?

He burned to ask her one question, to get the truth out of her and set his mind at rest: What did she do with all her exquisiteness when she was with a man like Ellinger? Where did she put it away? And having put it away, how could she recover herself, and give one, give even him, the sense of tempered steel, a blade that could fence with any one and never break?

86

It was two years before Neil Herbert came home again, and when he came, the first acquaintance he met was Ivy Peters. Ivy got on the train at one of the little stations east of Sweet Water, where he had been trying a case. As he strolled through the Pullman he noticed among the passengers a man in a gray flannel suit, with a shirt of one shade of blue and a necktie of another. After regarding this urban figure from the rear for a few seconds, Ivy glanced down at his own clothes with gloating satisfaction. It was a hot day in June, but he wore the black felt hat and ready-made coat of winter weight he had always affected as a boy. He stepped forward, his hands thrust into his pockets. "Hullo, Neil! Thought I could n't be mistaken."

Neil looked up, and saw the red, bee-stung face, with its two permanent dimples, smiling down at him in contemptuous jocularity.

"Hello, Ivy. I could n't be mistaken in you, either."

"Coming home to go into business?" Neil replied that he was coming only for the summer vacation.

"Oh, you're not through school yet? I suppose it takes longer to make an architect than it does to make a shyster. Just as well. There's not much building going on in Sweet Water these days. You'll find changes."

"Won't you sit down?" Neil indicated the neighboring chair. "You are practising law?”

"Yes, along with a few other things. Have to keep more than one iron in the fire to make a living with us. I farm a little on the side. I rent that meadow-land on the Forrester place. I've drained the old marsh and put it into wheat. My brother John does the work, and I boss the job. It 's quite profitable. I pay them a good rent, and they need it. I doubt if they could get along without. Their influential friends don't seem to help them out much. Remember all those chesty old boys the captain used to drive about in his democrat wagon, and ship in barrels of Bourbon for? Good deal of bluff about all those old-timers. The panic put them out of the game. The Forresters have come down in the world, like the rest. You remember how the old man used to put it over us kids and not let us carry a gun in there? I'm just mean enough to like to shoot along that creek a little better than anywhere else now. There was n't any harm in the old captain, but he had the delusion of grandeur. He's happier now that he 's like the rest of us and don't have to change his shirt every day." Ivy's unblinking, greenish eyes rested upon Neil's haberdashery.

Neil, however, did not notice this. He knew that Ivy wanted him to show disappointment, and he was trying his best not to do so. He inquired about the captain's health, pointedly keeping Mrs. Forrester's name out of the conversation.

"He's only about half there; seems contented enough. She takes good care of him; I'll say that for her. She seeks consolation, always did, you know,-too much French brandy,— but she never neglects him. I don't blame her. Real work comes hard on her."

Neil heard these remarks dully through the buzz of an idea. He felt that Ivy had drained the marsh quite as much to spite him and Mrs. Forrester as to reclaim the land. Moreover, he seemed to know that until this moment Ivy himself had not realized how much that consideration weighed with him. He and Ivy had disliked each other from childhood, blindly, instinctively, recognizing each other through antipathy, as hostile insects do. By draining the marsh Ivy had obliterated a few acres of something he hated, though he could not name it, and had asserted his power over the people who had loved those unproductive meadows for their idleness and silvery beauty.

After Ivy had gone on into the smoker, Neil sat looking out at the windings of the Sweet Water and playing with his idea. The Old West had been settled by dreamers, greathearted adventurers who were unpractical to the point of magnificence; a courteous brotherhood, strong in attack, but weak in defense; who could conquer, but could not hold. Now all the vast territory that they had won was to be at the mercy of

men like Ivy Peters, who had never dared anything, never risked anything. They would drink up the mirage, dispel the morning freshness, root out the great brooding spirit of freedom, the generous, easy life of the great landholders. The space, the color, the princely carelessness of the pioneer they would destroy and cut up into profitable bits, as the match factory splinters the primeval forest. All the way from the Missouri to the mountains this generation of shrewd young men, trained to petty economies by hard times, would do exactly what Ivy Peters had done when he drained the Forrester marsh.

$7

The next afternoon Neil found Captain Forrester in the bushy little space he called his rose garden, seated in a stout hickory chair that could be left out in all weather, his two canes beside him. His attention was fixed upon a red block of Colorado sandstone, set on a granite boulder in the middle of the gravel plot around which the roses grew. He showed Neil that this was a sun-dial, and explained it with great pride. Last summer, he said, he sat out here a great deal, with a square board mounted on a post, and marked the length of the shadows by his watch. His friend, Cyrus Dalzell, on one of his visits, took this board away, had the diagram exactly copied on sandstone, and sent it to him, with the column-like boulder that formed its base.

"I think it's likely Mr. Dalzell hunted around among the mountains a good many mornings before he found a natural formation like that," said the captain. "A pillar, such as they had in Bible times. It 's from

the Garden of the Gods. Mr. Dalzell has his summer home there."

The captain sat with the soles of his boots together, his legs bowed out. Everything about him seemed to have grown heavier and weaker. His face was fatter and smoother, as if the features were running into one another, as when a wax face melts in the heat. An old Panama hat, burned yellow by the sun, shaded his eyes. His brown hands lay on his knees, the fingers well apart, nerveless. His mustache was the same straw color; Neil remarked to him that it had grown no grayer. The captain touched his cheek with his palm.

I can

"Mrs. Forrester shaved me for a while. She did it very nicely, but I did n't like to have her do it. Now I use one of these safety razors. manage if I take my time. The barber comes over once a week. Mrs. Forrester is expecting you, Neil. She's down in the grove. She goes down there to rest in the hammock."

Neil went round the house to the gate that gave into the grove. From the top of the hill he could see the hammock, slung between two cottonwoods, in the low glade at the farther end, where he had fallen the time he broke his arm. The slender, white figure was still, and as he hurried across the grass he saw that a white garden hat lay over her face. He approached quietly and was just wondering if she were asleep, when he heard a soft, delighted laugh, and with a quick movement she threw off the lace hat through which she had been watching him. He stepped forward and caught her suspended figure, hammock and all, in his arms. How light and alive she was! Like a bird caught in a net. If only he could rescue her and carry

her off like this-off the earth of sad, inevitable periods, away from age, weariness, adverse fortune!

She showed no impatience to be released, but lay laughing up at him with that gleam of something elegantly wild, something fantastic and tantalizing, seemingly so artless, really the most finished artifice. She put her hand under his chin as if he were still a boy.

"And how handsome he 's grown! Is n't the old judge proud of you! He called me up last night and began sputtering, 'It's only fair to warn you, ma'am, that I've a very handsome boy over here.' As if I had n't known you would be! And now you 're a man and have seen the world! Well, what have you found in it?"

"Nothing so nice as you, Mrs. Forrester."

"Oh, yes. I had to stop and look at his sun-dial."

She raised herself on her elbow and lowered her voice.

"Neil, can you understand it? He is n't childish, as some people say, but he will sit and watch that thing hour after hour. How can anybody like to see time visibly devoured? We are all used to seeing clocks go round, but why does he want to see that shadow creep on that stone? Has he changed much? No? I'm glad you feel so. Now tell me about the Adamses and what George is like."

Neil dropped on the turf and sat with his back against a tree-trunk, answering her rapid questions and watching her while he talked. Of course she was older. In the brilliant sun of the afternoon one saw that her skin was no longer like white lilacs; it

hearts?"

"Perhaps."

"Are they pretty?"

"Why they? Is n't one enough?" "One is too many. I want you to have half a dozen, and still save the best for us! One would take everything. If you had her, you would not have come home at all. I wonder if you know how we 've looked for you." She took his hand and turned a sealring about on his little finger absently. "Every night for weeks, when the lights of the train came swinging in down below the meadows, I 've said to myself, 'Neil is coming home; there 's that to look forward to."" She caught herself as she always did when she found that she was telling too much, and finished in a playful tone. "So, you see, you mean a great deal to all of us. Did you find Mr. Forrester?"

have just begun to fade. The coil of blue-black hair seemed more than ever too heavy for her head. There were lines-something strained about the corners of her mouth that used not to be there. But the astonishing thing was how these changes could vanish in a moment, be utterly wiped out in a flash of personality, and one forgot everything about her except herself.

"And tell me, Neil, do women really smoke after dinner now with the men, nice women? I should n't like it. It's all very well for actresses, but women can't be attractive if they do everything that men do."

it.

going to college and smoking after dinner? Do you like it? Don't men like women to be different from themselves? They used to."

Neil laughed. Yes, that was certainly the idea of Mrs. Forrester's generation.

"Uncle Judge says you don't come to see him any more as you used to, Mrs. Forrester. He misses it."

"My dear boy, I have n't been over to the town for six weeks. I'm too tired. We have no horse now, and when I do go I have to walk. That house! Nothing is ever done there unless I do it, and nothing ever moves unless I move it. That's why I come down here in the afternoon, to get where I can't see the house. I can't keep it up as it should be kept; I 'm not strong enough. Oh, yes, Ben helps me; he sweeps, and beats rugs and washes windows, but that does n't get a house very far." Mrs. Forrester sat up suddenly and pinned on her white hat. "We went all the way to Chicago, Neil, to buy that walnut furniture; could n't find anything at home big and heavy enough. If I'd known that one day I 'd have to push it about, I would have been more easily satisfied." She rose, and shook out her rumpled skirts.

They started toward the house, going slowly up the long, grassy undulation between the trees.

"Don't you miss the marsh?" Neil asked suddenly.

She glanced away evasively.

"Not much. I would never have time to go there, and we need the money it pays us. And you have n't time to play any more, either, Neil. You must hurry and become a successful man. Your uncle is terribly involved. He has been so careless that

he's not much better off than we are. Money is a very important thing. Realize that in the beginning; face it, and don't be ridiculous in the end, like so many of us." They stopped by the gate at the top of the hill and looked back at the green alleys and the sharp shadows, at the quivering fans of light that seemed to push the trees farther apart and made Elysian fields underneath them. Mrs. Forrester put her white hand, with all its rings, on Neil's arm.

"Do you really find a kind of pleasure in coming back to us? That's very unusual, I think. At your age I wanted to be with the young and gay. It's nice for us, though." She looked at him with her rarest smile, one he had seldom seen on her face, but always remembered a smile without archness, without gaiety, full of affection and wistfully sad. And the same thing was in her voice when she spoke those quiet words-the sudden quietness of deep feeling. She turned quickly away. They went through the gate and around the house to where the captain sat watching the sunset glory on his roses. His wife touched his shoulder.

"Will you go in now, Mr. Forrester, or shall I bring your coat?"

"I'll go in. Is n't Neil going to stay for dinner?"

"Not this time. He'll come soon, and we 'll have a real dinner for him. Will you wait for him, Neil? I must hurry in and start the fire."

Neil tarried behind and accompanied the captain's slow progress toward the front of the house. He leaned upon two canes, lifting his feet slowly and putting them down firmly and carefully. He looked like an old tree walking.