Diana had cocked one ear at the mention of her name, but had speedily uncocked it again on becoming satisfied that nothing in the way of excitement was at hand. “Yes, I suppose you do feel lonely,” said Brother Green slowly, as he seated himself on his anvil and crossed his brawny arms. “I’ve been used to it for so long, I have almost forgotten how anything else feels.” Olive looked kindly at him. “Are you ever homesick, and do you ever wish you had stayed in England? It must be very different from here.” “Very,” said Brother Green gazing with a far-away sort of look through the large forge door out over the shimmering prairie. He suddenly seemed to see rolling hills with oak woods tufting their slopes, and a deep valley, where blue curling smoke ascended in high spirals, and a church steeple rose from among elms, and jackdaws croaked around the steeple. He put his head a little on one side, almost as if he would catch more distinctly the hoarse croak of the jackdaws, or maybe the first sound of the bell which hung in the steeple and used to ring on Sundays. “Yes,” he said, as this picture faded away and the prairie returned in its place, “there can’t be much greater differences in the world than between Perfection City and the little village in Sussex, where I was born.” “Which do you like best, Brother Green?” asked Olive a little thoughtlessly. “I don’t expect ever to be as unhappy again as I was in that pretty little village,” said Brother Green, and Olive remembered that she had been told he had lost a young wife in his youth. She felt sorry for him, and regretted having touched upon an old wound that still could throb with pain. “Have you heard any news lately? Has anybody been to the forge? You are always the first to hear news,” said she quickly, desiring to change the subject. “A man from down south passed this morning.” “Did he?” said Olive anxiously, “what did he say?” “He said the fire was just bellowing its way towards Fort Scott, and had done a good deal of damage one way or another. It was one of the hottest they ever had and the hardest to stop. It crossed one of the South Fork Creeks and got into the broken land round Osage.” “We had a very narrow escape ourselves,” said Olive, feeling remarkably little interest in the fire. “Did he say anything else? Who was he?” “A stranger, I never saw him before. No, he didn’t say anything else, except to tell me that he calkerlated Britishers were mos’ly fools and couldn’t do a day’s work ’gain ’Mericans, no matter what it were, rail-splitting or tobacco-chawin’.” Brother Green gave a deep gentle laugh, like the distant boom of a waterfall hidden among trees. “Don’t you think these prairie folk are most conceited?” asked Olive, in some scorn. “No, not more than other people, Sister,” replied Brother Green somewhat unexpectedly, “they only say what they think with remarkable frankness.” “But that is conceit,” persisted Olive.