In the bright winter morning, seated in a gay cutter behind a bay colt strung with slashing bells, Mattie drove to Kesota for the doctor. She felt the discord between the joyous jangle of the bells, the stream of sunlight, and the sparkle of snow crystals, but it only added to the poignancy of her anxiety. She had not yet reached self-consciousness in her regard for the young preacher--she thought of him as a noble human being liable to death, and she chirped again and again to the flying colt, whose broad hoofs flung the snow in stinging showers against her face. A call at the doctor's house set him jogging out along the lanes, while she sent a telegram to Herman. As she whirled bay Tom into the road to go home, her heart rose in relief that was almost exaltation. She loved horses. She always sang under her breath, chiming to the beat of their bells, when alone, and now she loosened the rein and hummed an old love song, while the powerful young horse squared away in a trot which was twelve miles an hour--_click_, click-_click_, click-_clangle_, lang-_lingle_, ling. In such air, in such sun, who could die? Her good animal strength rose dominant over fear of death. She came upon the doctor swinging along in his old blue cutter, dozing in country-doctor style, making up for lost sleep. "Out o' the way, doctor!" she gleefully called. The doctor roused up and looked around with a smile. He was not beyond admiring such a girl as that. He snapped his whip-lash lightly on old Sofia's back, who looked up surprised, and, seeming to comprehend matters, began to reach out broad, flat, thin legs in a pace which the proud colt respected. She came of illustrious line, did Sofia, scant-haired and ungracious as she now was. "Don't run over me," called the doctor, ironically, and with Sofia still leading they swung into the yard. Mattie went in with the doctor, while Allen looked after both horses. They found Chapman attending Wallace--who lay in a dazed quiet--conscious, but not definitely aware of material things. The doctor looked his patient over carefully. Then he asked, "Who is the yoong mon?" "He's been teaching here, or rather preaching." "When did this coom on?" "Last night. Wound up a big revival last night, I believe. Kind o' caved in, I reckon." "That's all. Needs rest. He'll be wearin' a wood jacket if he doosna leave off preachin'." "Regular jamboree. I couldn't stop him. One of these periodical neighborhood 'awakenings,' they call it." "They have need of it here, na doot." "Well, they need something--love for God--or man." "M--well! It's lettle I can do. The wumman can do more, if the mon'll be eatin' what they cuke for 'im," said the candid old Scotchman. "Mak' 'im eat. Mak' 'im eat." Once more Tom pounded along the shining road to Kesota to meet the six-o'clock train from Chicago. Herman, magnificently clothed in fur-lined ulster and cap, alighted with unusually grave face and hurried toward Mattie.