face of clay, Jinny,” he said, drawing a long breath, “We’re not so bad off, after all!” Again his eyes ranged the green circle of the glade; at the farther side, where the growth was sparse, he could see the valley with its yellow sands and rose-tinted air. The bright red of blossoming cacti made vivid patches here and there in the waste; even the great barren felt the touch of spring. “God may have forgot this country,” the man 60said, after a long silence, “But He sure made it, if He made the rest. It’s got the same brand, when you come to see it. 60 “I guess, Jinny,” he continued, still gazing afar, “that the best of one thing’s about as good as the best of another. What do you think about it?” As Jinny did not commit herself he sat down upon a rock and reached out to scratch the shaggy gray head. “If I’d got back to Iowa when I wanted to,” he went on, “I’d most likely be dead by now.” Jinny’s head drooped till her nose rested upon his knee, and she nodded off to sleep. Gard let her stay and sat looking off across the valley, his mind full of new emotion. “A man might think,” he slowly mused, considering the mystery of his coming to this place, “that ’twas what old Deacon Stebbins used to call a ‘leading’.” He turned the thought over in his mind. “Why not?” he asked. His eyes rested upon one toil hardened hand as it lay upon Jinny’s back. He held it up, surveying it curiously. “Rather different, from what it was,” he thought, clenching it into a great fist. “Yah—” with sudden anger, “It’ll be different for Ashley Westcott if ever he comes to feel it.” 61His mind dwelt upon that possibility. 61 “If ever I do get hold of him,” he muttered, and then paused, as half-forgotten memories of that faithful teacher came flocking to the front. “The deacon ’d be down on that idea,” he reflected. “Wonder how he’d work his pet hobby o’ forgiveness here. He couldn’t judge of everything,”
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