"Please do not speak of it, my dear. As I am alone, you may stay with me until you have found the kind of place you desire." She was silent and thoughtful for a moment, and then asked softly, "where are you from?" "Cincinnati." "I do declare!" exclaimed the other in mild surprise. "I have relatives there; but I have never seen the city myself." The stranger appeared relieved. "And do you expect to be in the city long?" "I cannot say. I am here to sell a book, _The Tempest_, a western story, by a Negro author. And, of course, it depends upon that, as to how long I shall stay." "Oh, you sell books." Mildred did not correct her. "I used to sell books, and, indeed I liked it. I am fond of reading. I am anxious to see the book you speak of when it is convenient, since I have observed advertisements of it." "It is a nice book," Mildred commented. "And as soon as I can have access to my trunk at the depot, I shall be delighted to let you see and read it." "I shall indeed be pleased, I assure you," the other smiled back sweetly. "I am always so interested when it comes to books, that I wish, when you have had something to eat, you would tell me the story of _The Tempest_." "It will be a pleasure; but you need not fix me lunch, for I just ate a short time ago, as I came from the station. So, if you now wish, I will tell, in as few words as possible, and as best I can, the story of this book. "The story opens up on the banks of the river, near this city.... It concerns a young man, restless and discontented, who regarded the world as a great opportunity. So he set forth to seek his fortune.... Thus it began, but shortly, it led through a maze of adventures, to a land in the west. It is, perhaps, the land of the future; a land in which opportunity awaits for courageous youths, strong men, and good women.... This land is called _The Rosebud Indian Reservation_. It lays in southern South Dakota, and slopes back from the banks of the 'Big Muddy', stretching for many miles into the interior beyond. It is a prairie country. No trees, stumps, rocks or stones mar the progress of civilization. So the white men and only a few blacks unloaded at a town on or near the frontier. I think it is called Bonesteel. And then the mighty herd of human beings flocked and settled over all that broad expanse, claiming it by the right of conquest. "Among these many, conspicuous at the front, was the hero of this narrative. He came into a share, a creditable share, and, although far removed from the haunts of his own, and surrounded on all sides by a white race, he was duly inoculated with that spirit which makes men successful. "Time went on, and in a few years there was no more reservation, but it became _The Rosebud Country_, the land of the optimist.