Part 11 (1/2)

Once within the cool shadows of the livingroom, Mrs. Herndon again bethought herself to kiss her niece in a fresh glow of welcome, while the latter sank into a convenient rocker and began enthusiastically expressing her unbounded enjoyment of the West, and of the impressions gathered during her journey. Suddenly the elder woman glanced about and exclaimed, laughingly, ”Why, I had completely forgotten. You have not yet met your room-mate. Come out here, Naida; this is my niece, Phoebe Spencer.”

The girl thus addressed advanced, a slender, graceful figure dressed in white, and extended her hand shyly. Miss Spencer clasped it warmly, her eyes upon the flushed, winsome face.

”And is this Naida Gillis!” she cried. ”I am so delighted that you are still here, and that we are to be together. Aunt Lydia has written so much about you that I feel as If we must have known each other for years. Why, how pretty you are!”

Naida's cheeks were burning, and her eyes fell, but she had never yet succeeded in conquering the blunt independence of her speech. ”n.o.body else ever says so,” she said, uneasily. ”Perhaps it's the light.”

Miss Spencer turned her about so as to face the window. ”Well, you are,” she announced, decisively. ”I guess I know; you 've got magnificent hair, and your eyes are perfectly wonderful. You just don't fix yourself up right; Aunt Lydia never did have any taste in such things, but I 'll make a new girl out of you. Let's go upstairs; I 'm simply dying to see our room, and get some of my dresses unpacked.

They must look perfect frights by this time.”

They came down perhaps an hour later, hand in hand, and chattering like old friends. The shades of early evening were already falling across the valley. Herndon had returned home from his day's work, and had brought with him the Rev. Howard Wynkoop for supper. Miss Spencer viewed the young man with approval, and immediately became more than usually vivacious in recounting the incidents of her long journey, together with her early impressions of the Western country. Mr.

Wynkoop responded with an interest far from being a.s.sumed.

”I have found it all so strange, so unique, Mr. Wynkoop,” she explained. ”The country is like a new world to me, and the people do not seem at all like those of the East. They lead such a wild, untrammelled life. Everything about seems to exhale the spirit of romance; don't you find it so?”

He smiled at her enthusiasm, his glance of undisguised admiration on her face. ”I certainly recall some such earlier conception,” he admitted. ”Those just arriving from the environment of an older civilization perceive merely the picturesque elements; but my later experiences have been decidedly prosaic.”

”Why, Mr. Wynkoop! how could they be? Your work is heroic. I cannot conceive how any minister of the Cross, having within him any of the old apostolic fervor, can consent to spend his days amid the dreary commonplaces of those old, dead Eastern churches. You, n.o.bly battling on the frontier, are the true modern Crusaders, the Knights of the Grail. Here you are ever in the very forefront of the battle against sin, a.s.sociated with the Argonauts, impressing your faith upon the bold, virile spirits of the age. It is perfectly grand! Why the very men I meet seem to yield me a broader conception of life and duty; they are so brave, so modest, so active. Is--is Mr. Moffat a member of your church?”

The minister cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening. ”Mr. Moffat?

Ah, no; not exactly. Do you mean the mine-owner, Jack Moffat?”

”Yes, I think so; he told me he owned a mine--the Golden Rule the name was; the very choice in words would seem, to indicate his religious nature. He 's such a pleasant, intelligent man. There is a look in his eyes as though he sorrowed over something. I was in hopes you knew what it was, and I am very sure he would welcome your ministrations.

You have the only church in Glencaid, I understand, and I wonder greatly he has never joined you. But perhaps he may be prejudiced against your denomination. There is so much narrowness in religion.

Now, I am an Episcopalian myself, but I do not mean to permit that to interfere in any way with my church work out here. I wonder if Mr.

Moffat can be an Episcopalian. If he is, I am just going to show him that it is clearly his duty to a.s.sist in any Christian service. Is n't that the true, liberal, Western spirit, Mr. Wynkoop?”

”It most a.s.suredly should be,” said the young pastor.

”I left every prejudice east of the Missouri,” she declared, laughingly, ”every one, social and religious. I 'm going to be a true Westerner, from the top of my head to the toe of my shoe. Is Mr.

McNeil in your church?”

The minister hesitated. ”I really do not recall the name,” he confessed at last, reluctantly. ”I scarcely think I can have ever met the gentleman.”

”Oh, you ought to; he is so intensely original, and his face is full of character. He reminds me of some old paladin of the Middle Ages. You would be interested in him at once. He is the foreman of the 'Bar V'

ranch, somewhere near here.”

”Do you mean Billy McNeil, over on Sinsiniwa Creek?” broke in Herndon.

”I think quite likely, uncle; would n't he make a splendid addition to Mr. Wynkoop's church?”

Herndon choked, his entire body shaking with ill-suppressed enjoyment.

”I should imagine yes,” he admitted finally. ”Billy McNeil--oh, Lord!

There 's certainly a fine opening for you to do some missionary work, Phoebe.”