"An extr-r-r-aordinary young woman!" said Mrs. Davidson to Karen Jensen. "An extra_or_dinary person to be here. Why, she is a person of culture, like myself. And once married--married to that man!" Mrs. Davidson's lips were tight pursed now. "I don't reckon she ever was, real," said Karen Jensen, simply. "I don't hardly believe they _was_." Mrs. Davidson showed herself disposed to regard all the proprieties, hence she but coughed ponderously and shook her head ponderously, turning from side to side two or three times in her chair ponderously also. "For what has happened here," said she at last, "I thank God. If things had happened worse it would have been my fault. Never again shall I address myself to the task of writing advertisements for men in search of wives. Great Providence! An extraordinary woman like this! To-night I shall pray on my two knees for forgiveness for what I did, and what it might have meant. When I consider how near I came to--to----" "To raising hell?" inquired Karen Jensen sympathetically, seeing that her companion lacked the proper word at the time. The other woman nodded in emphatic though unconscious assent. Always there was present before her mind her own part in the little drama of this place. It was she who had helped to bring this woman here--who had helped to deceive her. She thanked Providence that perhaps fate itself sometimes saves us from the full fruit of our follies, after all. "Just a little sugar, thank you, Mrs. Gage," said she as Mary offered her some of the fresh whortle berries. "And these little cakes--you made them?" "Oh, yes--I do most of my cooking, when I can keep Annie away. You know about Annie, of course. And Minna, Mrs. Jensen's little, girl, who is my companion here most of the time--as I said, she's a dear. I've been teaching her to read all summer--spoiling your work, Mrs. Davidson!" "I wish more and more that I might have aid in that undertaking in this valley," said Sarah Davidson, herself a great soul in her way, and Covenanter when it came to duty. "It is perhaps primitive here, more so than elsewhere, but the people--the people--they need so much, and they--they----" "They _are_ so much," said Mary Gage gently. "They _are_ so much. I never knew before what real people were. I'm so glad." Mrs. Davidson's face worked strangely, very strangely, Mary thought, so that she believed her to be afflicted with some nervous disease of the facial muscles. But in truth Sarah Davidson was only endeavoring to get under control her own emotions, which, like all else about her, were ponderous and slow. "Then, my dear--you will let me say 'my dear,' won't you? It's becoming such a habit with me at my time of life--you will permit me to inquire if that is an actual expression of your attitude toward the people here? You say you are glad? Do you mean that, or is it a mere conventionality with you?"