Mrs. Thorne stood alone, meditating on Miss Benedet's trust in her. She saw
her husband, her stool of repentance and her mercy-seat in one, plodding
toward her contentedly across the soft garden ground, stepping between the
lettuces and avoiding the parsley bed. He knocked off a huge fat kitchen
weed with his cane.

"Where is that girl?" he said. "It's time you got your things on. We ought
to be starting in ten minutes."

"If you can find Willy you'll probably find 'that girl'!" Mrs. Thorne
explained, and then proceeded to explain further, as she walked with her
husband back to the house.

"Well," he summed up, "what is your opinion of the universe up to date? Got
any faith in anything left?"




THE MAID'S PROGRESS


From the great plateau of the Snake River, at a point that is far from any
main station, the stage-road sinks into a hollow which the winds might have
scooped, so constantly do they pounce and delve and circle round the spot.
Down in this pothole, where sand has drifted into the infrequent wheel
tracks, there is a dead stillness while the perpetual land gale is roaring
and troubling above.