"You will find it difficult to explain your lack of preparation to an investigating committee, won't you?" asked Sara. "If you can give a recipe for flood preparation," said Jim good naturedly, "you will have every dam builder in the world at your feet." Sara grunted and changed the subject and his manner abruptly. "Got any decent smoking tobacco, Still?" "That is hard to find here," replied Jim. "It dries out fast and loses flavor. I've got some over at the house I brought back from the East. I'll go over and get it now. Will you let Pen walk over with me? I'd like to have her see my house." "Makes no difference to me what she does. Hand me that book, Pen, before you start." Out under the stars Jim pulled Pen's hand within his arm and asked, "Pen, is he always like that?" "Always," answered Pen. "Do you remember the 'Wood-carver of Olympus'? How he was hurt like Sara and how he blasphemed God and was embittered for years? He was reconciled to his lot after a time and people loved him. I have so hoped for that change in poor Sara, but none has come." "Pen!" cried Jim suddenly. "I gave you my sign and seal! Why did you marry Saradokis?" Pen answered slowly, "Jim, why wouldn't you understand and take me West with you when I begged you to?" "Understand what?" asked Jim, tensely. "That Sara's hold on me was almost hypnotic, that it was you I really cared for, as I realized as soon as Sara was hurt. If only you had had the courage of your convictions, Still!" Jim winced but found no reply and Pen went on, her voice meditative and soft as if she were talking not of herself but of some half-forgotten acquaintance. "I used to feel resentful that Sara thought I was worth such constant attention, while you, in spite of the Sign and Seal, were quite as contented with Uncle Denny as with me. And yet, after it all was over and I had settled down to nursing Sara for the rest of my life, I could see that I had had nothing to give you then and Uncle Denny had. Life is so mercilessly logical--to look back on, Jimmy." Jim put his hand over the cold little fingers on his arm. Pen went on. "I did not try to write to you. I----" But Jim could bear no more. "Pen! Pen! What a miserable fool I am!" "You are nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Pen, indignantly "What do you think of the mess I've made of my life, if you think you are foolish?" "What am I to do? How can I make it up to you?" cried Jim. "By letting me stay in your desert for a time," answered Pen. "I know I'm going to love it." They were at Jim's doorstep and he made no reply. As usual, words seemed futile to him. He showed Pen his house and found the tobacco, letting Mrs. Flynn do all the talking. Then, still in silence, he led Pen back to her tent. At the door he gave her the tobacco and left her.