"A splendid horse," he declared, after a moment. "A beautiful animal!" Then, evidently suddenly mindful that he was detaining her, he stepped back. Helen again prepared to ride on. "Pat is a beautiful horse," she agreed, still a little nervous. "And like all beauty," she added, "he develops strange moods at times." Then, her sense of deep gratitude moving her, she asked, "Were you going toward town?" For reply he swung into the saddle. He wheeled close, and they set out. He appeared a little ill at ease, and Helen took the initiative. "From the East, I take it?" she inquired. "There are not a few Easterners down here. Some have taken up permanent residence." "Yes," he replied, "I'm from the East--New York." She liked his voice. "We are here for the winter--mother and myself. Mother isn't strong, and your delightful climate ought to improve her. I myself came along"--he turned twinkling eyes toward her--"as guide and comforter and--I fear--all-round nuisance." He was silent. "I like this country," he added, after a moment. Helen liked him for liking her country, for she had true Western pride for her birthplace. So she said the natural thing, though without display of pride. "Everybody likes it down here." He looked at her hesitatingly. "You're not from the outside, then?" "No," she rejoined. "I am a native." He showed restless curiosity now. "Tell me," he began, engagingly, "about this country. What, for instance, must one do, must one be, to--to be--well, to be accepted as a native!" He said this much as one feeling his way among a people new to him, as if, conscious of the informal nature of their meeting, he would ease that informality, yet did not know precisely how. Yet Helen found herself quite comfortable in his society now, and, permitting herself great freedom, she spoke almost with levity. "You have asked me a difficult question," she said. "Offhand I should say you must ride every morning, sleep some part of the early afternoon, and--oh, well, ride the next morning again, I reckon." And she smiled across at him. "Are you thinking of staying with us?" He nodded soberly. Then he went on. "What else must one do?" he asked. "Is that all?" His eyes were still twinkling. Helen herself was sober now. "No," she replied, "not quite. One must think a little, work a little, do a little good. We are very close together down here--very close to one another--and very, very far from the rest of the world. So we try to make each day register something of value, not alone for ourselves, but for our neighbors as well." She was silent. "We are a distinct race of people," she concluded, after a moment. He turned his head. "I like all that," he declared, simply. "Though I'm afraid I won't do--much as I dislike to admit it. You see, I've never learned to live much in the interest of others." He regarded her with steady eyes.