A Daughter of the Land

"I believe you would," said Nancy Ellen, wonderingly. "I believe

you would!"

"You're might right, I would," said Kate. "If I were married to a

man like Robert Gray, I'd fight tooth and nail before I'd let him

fall below his high ideals. It's as much your job to keep him up,

as it is his to keep himself. If God didn't make him a father, I

would, and I'd keep him BUSY on the job, if I had to adopt

sixteen."

Nancy Ellen laughed, as they went to their berths. The next

morning they awakened in cool Michigan country and went speeding

north among evergreen forests and clear lakes mirroring the

pointed forest tops and blue sky, past slashing, splashing

streams, in which they could almost see the speckled trout darting

over the beds of white sand. By late afternoon they had reached

their destination and were in their rooms, bathed, dressed, and

ready for the dinner hour. In the evening they went walking,

coming back to the hotel tired and happy. After several days they

began talking to people and making friends, going out in fishing

and boating parties in the morning, driving or boating in the

afternoon, and attending concerts or dances at night. Kate did

not dance, but she loved to see Nancy Ellen when she had a

sufficiently tall, graceful partner; while, as she watched the

young people and thought how innocent and happy they seemed, she

asked her sister if they could not possibly arrange for Adam and

Polly to go to Hartley a night or two a week that winter, and join

the dancing class. Nancy Ellen was frankly delighted, so Kate

cautiously skirted the school question in such a manner that she

soon had Nancy Ellen asking if it could not be arranged. When

that was decided, Nancy Ellen went to dance, while Kate stood on

the veranda watching her. The lights from the window fell

strongly on Kate. She was wearing her evening dress of smoky

gray, soft fabric, over shining silk, with knots of dull blue

velvet and gold lace here and there. She had dressed her hair

carefully; she appeared what she was, a splendid specimen of

healthy, vigorous, clean womanhood.

"Pardon me, Mrs. Holt," said a voice at her elbow, "but there's

only one head in this world like yours, so this, of course, must

be you."

Kate's heart leaped and stood still. She turned slowly, then held

out her hand, smiling at John Jardine, but saying not a word. He

took her hand, and as he gripped it tightly he studied her

frankly.

"Thank God for this!" he said, fervently. "For years I've dreamed

of you and hungered for the sight of your face; but you cut me off

squarely, so I dared not intrude on you -- only the Lord knows how

delighted I am to see you here, looking like this."