They plunged headlong into the muddy waters of the Creek, and the little bride would have felt frightened only that “he” was by her side, for the waggon creaked and groaned with the strain, and the horses snorted uneasily, feeling their way carefully through the rushing torrent. The Creek was safely passed, and they slowly toiled up the long hill out of the bottom-lands, and pulled up when once more on the high prairie. “There is our home, dearie,” he said, pointing with his whip to some scattered houses a couple of miles away. And being a bridegroom he kissed her. “So that is Perfection City, is it?” said she, shading her eyes with her hand, for the afternoon sun sent level rays into her face. “You know, Ezra, it is such a funny name, I always feel inclined to laugh when I say it. And how I shall ever dare to put it at the top of my letters as a real address when I write to the girls at the College at Smyrna, is more than I know.” “Then don’t write it,” replied Ezra, a trifle sternly. “It will hurt our feelings very much if you laugh at it. You know it means a great deal to all of us.” “Then I’ll never laugh at it,” said the little bride. “Which is our house?” she asked a moment later. “The one half way up the slope.” “Oh, that is nice. I like looking down across things. I shouldn’t like to live in a valley and always have to look up, you know.” “The large building is the Academy,” said Ezra. “That is where we hold our meetings and gather together for all the best purposes of our little community-life.” “Is it there that Madame Morozoff-Smith lives?” asked his wife. “Her house is the one just opposite.” “Oh, that big one! It is quite the largest in the village—the City, I mean.” Ezra did not make any reply to this remark. He had never realised that Madame’s house was indeed the largest in their Community, and now he felt vexed that this fact should have been the first his wife noted. A small boy with shining black face and shining white teeth, along with a yellow puppy, welcomed them. “This is Napoleon Pompey,” said Ezra, with much decorum presenting the small darkie who grinned and bobbed his head. “And this is Diana,” pointing to the puppy that had come up to the bars along with the negro. Diana jumped upon her new mistress and left two black dust marks on her dress. Dust is black in London and on the western prairie, nowhere else. “Oh, you dirty dog,” said the little bride, who was a very natty body. “You’ll have to get used to dirt in all degrees out here, Ollie,” said her husband as he led her to the door. She looked like a little girl as she stood beside him, for he was tall and angular and long of leg. A sloping plank with battens nailed across it led to the door, there were no steps. As the pair entered, Napoleon Pompey and Diana took the horses and waggon to the stable and began respectively to unharness and worry them.