And if you think he could take that ride without wishing to the "nth" degree that she could be with him to share the joy, then, I assure you, you don't know to what music those gay, twinkling, trembling gold leaves above the _Brule_ were beating time all night to the whisper of the wind and rustle of the pixy parachutes sailing mid-air. CHAPTER XXV THE QUESTION IS--WHICH UNCLE SAM? Before, it had been a race-reverie; a waiting, puzzled and uncertain for the ways of life. Now, it was the joy of life, the fulfilment for which life had been created and waited expectant; and whether the ways were any plainer in the new light, there was no room for wonder in the fulness of joy. Eleanor was glad the little bundle of tawdry loquacity toddling between them kept up a constant stream of idle boastings on the road to the Mission House, about being "waal-thy" and "Faather shure bein' a gen'leman when they were waal-thy" and "herself as foine as eny loidy in th' land," and more and more of the same, all the way down the Ridge Trail; which was not so fatuous as it sounded, when it voiced the convictions of a great many more people than the little unwashed garlicky Shanty Town dancer. Eleanor wondered if the same arguments applied to the culture of horses and pigs and potatoes--size instead of sort, fulness of stomach not quality of head, area of possession not area of service. The garrulous babble continued to the very doors of the Mission School, and through the formalities of an absurdly formal introduction to Mrs. Williams, and during the suppertime meal with the little Indian children in the big dining room. Eleanor noticed how Lizzie's lips pursed with contempt at the other children and the little stomach poked out with arrogance and fulness as the boasting waxed. "That kind is the most hopeless of all," remarked Mrs. Williams in a low voice, amused at the amazement on the faces of the Indian children.