“Hush, Hans Peter; thou knowest it is a sin to see that a woman is fair or comely,” warned Walda. The simple one shook his head of tangled, straw-colored hair, and answered: “Thou forgettest the fool knoweth not right from wrong; he is the only free man in the whole colony.” He threw his cap into the air, but his stolid face betrayed no sign that he might be exulting over his emancipation from the laws of Zanah. “Here, gather up these letters and papers and come with me to the inn,” said Everett. He thrust the photograph into the outside pocket of his coat. “Now, indeed, do I know that I am a daughter of Eve,” said Walda, rising. “To-day it hath been made plain to me that I am not like unto the women of the world. I—I—I would have one glimpse of thy cousin. Dost thou think it would be very sinful if I looked at the image of thy kinswoman?” “Sinful! I think it is your right to know something of the women outside the colony,” Everett declared. He took the picture from his pocket and put it into her hand. Walda studied the face for a few moments. “Thy cousin Beatrice is fair indeed.” As she spoke the faintest sigh accompanied her words. “Wilt thou not tell me something of her?” she asked. “Doth she wear this gown and this necklace when she worketh?” The picture of his cousin Beatrice working was so absurd that Everett smiled. “This is the sort of a gown my cousin wears when she goes to a ball,” he explained. “A ball! What is a ball?” asked Walda. “Oh, it is a party—an assembly of men and women where there are music and flowers and brilliant lights.” “And what do the people do? Do they sing hymns and pray as we do at our meetings?” Again Everett smiled. The spectacle of the guests at a modern ball joining in hymns and prayers would be entertaining indeed, he thought. “They talk and dance, Walda.” “There is dancing spoken of in the Bible,” said Walda; “but the elders of Zanah have told the people how the rite hath been degraded by the men and women of the world. I have heard that dancing is no longer a religious ceremony.” “That is true, indeed,” said Everett, and the memory of some of the stage-dancing flashed across his brain. “What is thy cousin’s work?” Walda inquired, again studying the photograph. “Work?” repeated Everett. “Why, she has no work.” “And doth all thy family belong to the drones?” Walda asked. “How is it that out in the world some men and women are permitted to be idle while others labor?” “Now, Walda, you have hit upon one of the great social problems. Out in the world the people do not work for the common good. Selfishness rules. Some men and some women are born to wealth, and some are born to poverty.” “Thou meanest that some men are like Solomon and others are like the beggars that lay outside the gates of Jerusalem?” “Yes, that is what I mean,” said Everett.