During the half hour that followed, Lydia did not speak again nor did she hear any of the conversation. New voices were beginning to whisper to her. Try as she would to hush them with her faith in her father and John, they continued to query: How about the Indians? Whose is the land? What do you yourself believe? When Levine rose at nine to leave, she followed him to the door. "Adam and I'll walk a way with you," she said, "while Dad puts his chickens to bed." "Fine!" exclaimed John. "My wheel is out of commission so I have to walk to the trolley." He glanced at Lydia a trifle curiously however. This was a new venture on her part. It was a clear, cold, starlit night. Lydia trudged along for a few moments in silence. Then Levine pulled her hand through his arm. "Out with it, young Lydia," he said. "Do you suppose," she asked, "that God is something like ether--or like electricity--in the air, everywhere, something that sort of holds us together, you know?" "Well," replied John, slowly, "I wouldn't want to believe that. I want to find a God we can know and understand. A God that's tender and--and human, by Jove." Lydia looked up at him quickly in the starlight. "After what you said about Indians to-night, you can't believe God could be tender and--and let that happen!" Levine returned her look and smiled. "You score there, honey. Lydia, you're growing up. Your head's above my shoulder now." The young girl nodded carelessly. "But I wanted to talk to you about taking the reservation, not about me." "I guess we'd better do that another time. I don't dare to have you walk further with me. This is a lonesome road back for you. And besides, I don't want you to scold me." "Scold you!" Lydia paused in her astonishment. "Why, I love you as much as I do anybody in the world. How could I scold you?" Levine looked down into the shadowy, childish eyes. "Couldn't you? Well, you're a dear, anyhow. Now scoot and I'll watch till you reach the gate." Lydia hesitated. She felt a change in John's manner and wondered if she had hurt his feelings. "Kiss me good night, then," she said. "You don't do it as regularly as you used to. If I don't watch you, you'll be finding some one else to travel with you." John turned the little face up and kissed her gently on the forehead, but Lydia with rare demonstrativeness threw her arms about his neck and kissed his lips with a full childish smack. "There!" she said complacently. "Come on, Adam! Don't wait, Mr. Levine. I'm safe with Adam." But John Levine did wait, standing with his hand against his lips, his head bowed, till he heard the gate click. Then he lifted his face to the stars. "God," he whispered, "why do You make me forty-five instead of twenty-five?" CHAPTER IX THE ELECTION "Perhaps, after all, I have fulfilled my destiny in being a lute for the wind. But then why the cones and the broken boughs?"--_The Murmuring Pine_.