underlip, however, was a little full, and the oval of the face through
short curve of jaw a trifle too round. Her companion tried in vain to
control the admiration of his gaze. Unelated by what she felt to be
merely her due, Miss Conklin was silent for a time. At length she
observed:

"I guess I'll have to go and fix up."

Just then the Elder appeared on the stoop. "Ef you're goin'," he said in
the air, as his daughter swept past him into the house, "you'd better
hitch Jack up to the light buggy."

"Thank you," said the schoolmaster; and for the sake of saying
something, he added, "What a fine view." The Elder paused but did not
answer; he saw nothing remarkable in the landscape except the Indian
corn and the fruit, and the words "fine view" conveyed no definite
meaning to him; he went on towards the stables.

The taciturnity of the Elder annoyed Bancroft excessively. He had now
passed a couple of weeks as a boarder with the Conklins, and the Elder's
unconscious rudeness was only one of many peculiarities that had brought
him to regard these Western folk as belonging almost to a distinct
species. George Bancroft was an ordinary middle-class Bostonian. He had
gone through the University course with rather more than average
success, and had the cant of unbounded intellectual sympathies. His
self-esteem, however, was not based chiefly on his intelligence, but on
the ease with which he reached a conventional standard of conduct. Not a
little of his character showed itself in his appearance. In figure he
was about the middle height, and strongly though sparely built. The head
was well-proportioned; the face a lean oval; the complexion sallow; the