“I’m like the well that old saw tells of—the stone sinks and is never seen again. Confession in the heart of a friend, you know.” “Thanks. Now listen.” When the woman rode away a half hour later, carrying another of those letters from New York which the trader had come to hate ever since Selwood’s suggestion concerning the writer, his eyes had a very strange expression. It was a mixture of several expressions, rather—astonishment, of personal gratification, and a vague, incongruous regret. If he had been a better man that last faint seeming of sorrow might have denoted the loss of an ideal, the death of something fine. But he looked after Cattle Kate with a fire of passion that was slowly growing with every interview. * * * * * Life at the homestead on Nameless took on a new color with the advent of Sonny Fair. Mrs. Allison, an epitome of universal motherhood, looked over the scant, well-mended belongings of the family and laid out such articles as she judged could be spared. These she began expertly to make over into little garments. “When did Brand buy you these pants, Sonny?” she inquired, but the child shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. “H’m. Must be pretty poor,” she opined, but Bud scowled in disapproval. “Pretty durn stingy, I’d say,” he remarked. “Hold judgment, Bud,” counseled Nance, “when a man travels for two years he don’t have much time to make money. We’re poor, too, but that don’t spell anything.” Bud held his tongue, but it was plain he was not convinced. “What makes him so contrary, I wonder?” said the girl later. “He’s jealous,” said Mrs. Allison calmly, “because you champion th’ stranger. It’s natural.” The field of corn was beautiful. Its blades were broad and satiny, covering the brown earth from view, and the waving green floor came well up along the horses’ legs as Nance rode down the rows on the shackly cultivator. For three days she had been at it, a labor of love. She had many dreams as she watched the light wimpling on the silky banners, vague, pleasant dreams that had to do with her cancelled debt at the store, with the trip to Bement about the carpet, and with the new blue dress she hoped to get with the surplus. Bud must have some new things, too, and her Mammy needed shoes the worst way. All these things the growing field promised her, whispering under the little wind, and she was happy deep in her innocent heart. She wondered if she dared ask Brand to let her take Sonny on that trip to Bement, then instantly decided she should not. There might be someone from Nameless in the town, and Brand was particularly insistent on his staying out of sight. She never ceased to wonder about that. What could be his reason? What could there be in the Deep Heart country to whom a little child could make a difference?