"There is no death," said Hope, rising abruptly from the log upon which she had been sitting and standing erect before Louisa, her dark commanding eyes forcing the attention of the grief-stricken girl. "I know there is no death. I feel it with every throb of my pulse--in every atom of my being! _I_ and my _body_!--_I_ and my _body_!" she continued impressively. "How distinct the two! Can the death of this lump of clay change the _I_ that is really myself? Can anything exterminate the living me? Every throb of my whole being tells me that I am more than this perishable flesh--that I am more than time or place or condition or _death_! I believe, like the Indians, that when we are freed from this husk of death--this perishing flesh, that the we, as we truly are, is like a prisoner turned loose--that then, only do we realize what _life_ really means." Louisa's innocent eyes were intent upon her as she strove to grasp the full meaning of the English words. "_Ich weiss; es ist wahr_," she replied softly, "_aber wenn der Kummer so frisch ist, dann ist es unmöglich in dem Gedanken Trost zu finden_." "I should have said nothing," said Hope in contrition, seating herself upon the log pile again. "_Nein_, my dear, dear friend! I have now dis misery, but I belief you. Somedimes your vords vill help--vat you calls 'em--vill _soothe_, und I vill be better." "Then it's all right," said Hope, jumping from the logs and giving her hand to Louisa to assist her down. "Let's walk a little." They went slowly up the road toward the school-house, and had not proceeded far when they met Livingston driving toward them in an open buggy. Hope waved her hand to him and hastened forward, while Louisa smiled upon him the faintest of dimpled greetings, then drew back to the side of the road while the girl of the prairies stepped up to the side of his buggy. "You haven't kept your word very well," she said. "We have seen you only twice, and Louisa has wondered many times what has been keeping you. Isn't that so, Louisa?" she nodded at the girl. "I am glad you have come this morning, because I want to ask you a favor." "I am at your service," he replied. "You know Louisa hasn't learned to ride yet, and Harris' have no other way of conveyance, so I wanted to ask you to take her in your buggy--to see Fritz's grave." The last few words were added below her breath. "I came this morning to ask you if she did not wish to see it," he replied. "It might be good for her." "Of course _you_ should be the first one to think of it!" she said quickly, shading her eyes with her hand to look down the long, crooked stretch of road. "I didn't think of it at all myself. She has just asked me if she might see it. All the virtues are yours by right," she continued, showing, as she again faced him, a flash of her strong white teeth. "And the funny part of it is, I think I am getting jealous of the very virtues you possess!"