"They even bought a bell for it, and it used to ding for the sheepmen and railroaders, as long as their religion lasted. When it ran out, the preacher moved on to fresh fields, and a rancher bought the bell to call his hands to dinner. The respectable element of Comanche--that is, the storekeepers, their wives, daughters and sons, and the clerks, and others--hold a dance there now twice a week. That is their only relaxation." "It's a shame!" declared Mrs. Reed. "Oh, I don't know," said the doctor easily. "I'm _so_ disappointed in it!" said she. "Because it represents itself as a church when it's something else?" inquired the doctor softly. "Well, I shouldn't be, if I were you. It has really nothing to be ashamed of, for the respectable are mightily in the minority in Comanche, I can tell you, madam--that is, among the regular inhabitants." "Let's go over and look on," suggested William Bentley. "It may make some of you gloomy people forget your future troubles for a while." The party soon found that looking on exposed them to the contagion of sociability. They were such wholesome-looking people at the gathering, and their efforts to make the visitors who stood outside the door feel at home and comfortable were so genuine, that reserve dissolved most unaccountably. It was not long before June's mother, her prejudices against such frivolous and worldly use of a church blown away, was pigeoning around with William Bentley. Likewise Mrs. Mann, the miller out of sight and out of mind, stepped lightly with Horace, the lawyer, the sober black bag doubled up and stored in the pocket of his coat, its handles dangling like bridle-reins. June alone was left unpaired, in company with the doctor and Miss Horton, who asserted that they did not dance. Her heels were itching to be clicking off that jolly two-step which the Italian fiddlers and harpist played with such enticing swing. The school-teacher and the sergeant were not with them, having gone out on some expedition of their own among the allurements of Comanche. But June hadn't long to bear the itch of impatience, for ladies were not plentiful at the dance. Before anybody had time to be astonished by his boldness, a young man was bowing before June, presenting his crooked elbow, inviting her to the dance with all the polish that could possibly lie on any one man. On account of an unusually enthusiastic clatter of heels at that moment, Dr. Slavens and Miss Horton, a few paces distant, could not hear what he said, but they caught their breaths a little sharply when June took the proffered arm. "Surest thing you know," they heard her eager little voice say as she passed them with a happy, triumphant look behind. Dr. Slavens looked at Miss Horton; Miss Horton looked at the doctor. Both laughed. "Well, I like that!" she exclaimed.