"No?" said Hetty. "Aren't you just a little stupid, Flo? Now, he has made me ashamed--horribly--and I was proud of the men we had in this country. He's starving the women and the little children; there are quite a few of them lying in freezing shanties and sod-huts out there in the snow. It's just awful to be hungry with the temperature at fifty below." Miss Schuyler shivered. It was very warm and cosy sitting there, behind double casements, beside a glowing stove; but there had been times when, wrapped in costly furs and great sleigh-robes and generously fed, she had felt her flesh shrink from the cold of the prairie. "But they have Mr. Grant to help them," she said. Even in her agitation Hetty was struck by something which suggested unquestioning faith in her companion's tone. "You believe he could do something," she said. "Of course! You know him better than I do, Hetty." "Well," said Hetty, "though he has made me vexed with him, I am proud of Larry; and there's just one thing he can't do. That is, to see women and children hungry while he has a dollar to buy them food with. Oh, I know who was going to pay for the provisions that came from Chicago that Clavering got the railroad men to send the wrong way, and if Larry had only been with us he would have been splendid. As it is, if he feeds them in spite of Clavering, I could 'most forgive him everything." "Are you quite sure that you have a great deal to forgive?" Hetty, instead of resenting the question, stretched out her hand appealingly. "Don't be clever, Flo. Come here quite close, and be nice to me. This thing is worrying me horribly; and I'm ashamed of myself and--of everybody. Oh, I know I'm a failure. I couldn't sing to please folks and I sent Jake Cheyne away, while now, when the trouble's come, I'm too mean even to stand behind my father as I meant to do. Flo, you'll stay with me. I want you." Miss Schuyler, who had not seen Hetty in this mood before, petted her, though she said very little, for she felt that the somewhat unusual abasement might, on the whole, be beneficial to her companion. So there was silence in the room, broken only by the snapping of the stove and the faint moaning of the bitter wind about the lonely building, while Miss Schuyler sat somewhat uncomfortably on the arm of Hetty's chair with the little dusky head pressed against her shoulder. Hetty could not see her face or its gravity might have astonished her. Miss Schuyler had not spoken quite the truth when, though she had only met him three times, she admitted that Hetty knew Larry Grant better than she did. In various places and different guises Flora Schuyler had seen the type of manhood he stood for, but had never felt the same curious stirring of sympathy this grave, brown-faced man had aroused in her. A hound bayed savagely, and Hetty lifted her head. "Strangers!" she said. "Bowie knows all the cattle-boys. Who can be coming at this hour?"