'It was a nice dinner throughout, mother, and the table looked lovely.' 'Well, I saw Miss Lansing look at the cloth. She was too much of a lady to say anything, of course, but I could tell she noticed it.' 'Yes,' said Eunice, 'I think she did.' Mrs. Day was closing her door. 'Put out the light in the hall before you go to bed, Eunice.' 'Yes, mother,' said Eunice, softly closing her own door. She stood still a moment in the centre of the candle-lighted room. Then she went over to the Glory-Box and took out the kimono and laid it over the footboard so that the pink folds could catch the light. When she had undressed, she put it on. 'It will be a beautiful ending to the day,' she said, as she stood before the mirror braiding her hair. Her eyes rested on Stephen's picture. 'I think you would have been proud to-day, dear, and I think you would have liked this.' She turned to the mirror, and looked at the girl reflected there, at the dark eyes and hair and at the kimono draping her soft white gown. 'Dawn and apple-blossoms,' she whispered and then stretched out her arms. 'Stephen, my dear! O Stephen.' THE SPIRIT OF THE HERD[7] BY DALLAS LORE SHARP I We were trailing the 'riders' of P Ranch across the plains to a hollow in the hills called the 'Troughs,' where they were to round up a lot of cattle for a branding. On the way we fell in behind a bunch of some fifty cows and yearlings which one of the riders had picked up; and, while he dashed off across the desert for a 'stray,' we tenderfeet drove on the herd. It was hot, and the cattle lagged, so we urged them on. All at once I noticed that the whole herd was moving with a swinging, warping gait, with switching tails, and heads thrown round from side to side as if every steer were watching us. We were not near enough to see their eyes, but the rider, far across the desert, saw the movement and came cutting through the sage, shouting and waving his arms to stop us. We had pushed the driving too hard. Mutiny was spreading among the cattle, already manifest in a sullen ugly temper that would have brought the herd charging us in another minute, had not the cowboy galloped in between us just as he did--so untamed, unafraid, and instinctively savage is the spirit of the herd. It is this herd-spirit that the cowboy, on his long, cross-desert drives to the railroad, most fears. The herd is like a crowd, easily led, easily excited, easily stampeded,--when it becomes a mob of frenzied beasts, past all control,--the spirit of the city 'gang' at riot in the plains. If one would know how thin is the coat of domestication worn by the tamest of animals, let him ride with the cattle across the rim-rock country of southeastern Oregon. No better chance to study the spirit of the herd could possibly be had. And in contrast to the cattle, how intelligent, controlled, almost human, seems the plainsman's horse! I share all the tenderfoot's admiration for the cowboy and his 'pony.'