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"Dear me," she says, throwing up her dainty head, and flinging, with a petulant gesture, the unoffending grass far from her, "what an escape I have had! How his mother would have hated me! Surely I should count it lucky that I discovered all about her in time. Because really it doesn't so very much matter; I dare say I shall manage to be quite perfectly happy here again, after a little bit, just as I have been all my life—before he came. And when he is gone"—she pauses, chokes back with stern determination a very heavy sigh, and then goes on hastily and with suspicious bitterness, "What a temper he has! Horrid! The way he flung away my hand, as if he detested me, and flounced down that hill, as if he hoped never to set eyes on me again! With no 'good-by,' or 'by your leave,' or 'with your leave,' or a word of farewell, or a backward glance, or anything! I do hope he has taken me at my word, and that he will go straight back, without seeing me again, to his own odious country.",

She sighs. There is pathos and sweetness and tenderness in every line of her face, and much sadness. Her lips are slightly parted, "her eyes are homes of silent prayer." Paul, watching her, feels as though he is in the presence of some gentle saint, sent for a space to comfort sinful earth.,

"What does he say about the moon?" asks Mona, still with her knees in her embrace, and without lifting her eyes from the quiet waters down below.,

She herself destroys it presently.

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In Montana, running into the Missouri River from the south, is a little stream that the Blackfeet call "It Fell on Them." Once, long, long ago, while a number of women were digging in a bank near this stream for the red earth that they used as paint, the bank gave way and fell on them, burying and killing them. The white people call this Armell's Creek.,

It is an hour later. Afternoon draws towards evening, yet one scarcely feels the change. It is sultry, drowsy, warm, and full of a "slow luxurious calm.",

"There isn't much more; but yet the cream of the joke remains," says Nolly, laughing heartily. "They seemed pretty jolly by that time, and he was speaking. 'I was afraid you would refuse me,' he said, in an imbecile tone. 'I always thought you liked Geoffrey best.' 'Geoffrey!' said Violet. (Oh, Mrs. Geoffrey, if you could have heard her voice!) 'How could you think so! Geoffrey is all very well in his way, and of course I like him very much, but he is not to be compared with you.' 'He is very handsome,' said Jack, fishing for compliments in the most indecent manner. 'Handsome! Oh, no,' said Violet. (You really should have heard her, Mrs. Geoffrey!) 'I don't think so. Passably good-looking, I allow, but not—not like you!' Ha, ha, ha!",

"I don't care about the county. It must think what it likes; and when it knows her it will sympathize with me. Oh! what a name! Scully! Was there ever so dreadful a name?"