lands west of the Pacific. The West--the word in some way thrilled in my
blood--I knew not why. I was a boy. I had not learned to question any
emotion, and introspection troubled me no more than it did my pointer
dog.

Before we had separated at the door of our house, I motioned to my
mother, and we drew apart and seated ourselves beneath our own oaks in
the front yard of Cowles' Farms. Then I told her what had happened
between Miss Grace and myself, and asked her if she was pleased.

"I am very content with thee," she answered, slowly, musingly. "Thee
must think of settling, Jack, and Miss Grace is a worthy girl. I hope it
will bring peace between our families always." I saw a film cross her
clear, dark eye. "Peace!" she whispered to herself. "I wish that it
might be."

But peace was not in my heart. Leaving her presently, I once more swung
leg over saddle and rode off across our fields, as sad a lover as ever
closed the first day of his engagement to be wed.




CHAPTER VII

WHAT COMETH IN THE NIGHT


When I rode up our lane in the dusk, I found my father and mother
sitting in the cool of the front gallery, and giving my rein to one of