I like to think thus, when I see a person ill, or in sorrow, or weighed down with weary griefs.  I like to think that that which is ebbing here is flowing and ripening into fitness for the freed soul in that land where there shall be “no more sea.”

In insanity, does the kind Lord remove all from this world in order to fit up the new life more gloriously? and are those whom most we pity clasped the closest in the Living Arms?

It may be,—­there is such comfort in possibilities.

Will Saul come to-night?  I am all alone on the Big Blue.  There’s not another settled claim for miles away.

The August sun drank up the moisture from our corn-fields, took out the blood of our prairie-grasses, and God sent no cooling rains.  Why?

Skylight was charmful for a while.  I had forgotten Saul’s assertion that he was a pale shadow of Waubeeneemah, as we forget a dream of our latest sleep.

At my home Aunt Carter appeared one day, and said she had “come to spend the afternoon and stay to tea”; and she seated her amplitude of being in Saul’s favorite chair, and began to count the stitches in the heel of the twenty-fourth stocking that she assured me “she had knit every stitch of since the night she saw my husband lift me down at the gate just outside the window.”  Her blue eyes went down deeper and deeper into the bluer yarn her fingers were threading; and after a long pause, during which I had forgotten her presence, and was counting out the hours on the face of the clock which the slow hands must travel over before Saul would be at home, suddenly she looked up and began with,—­

“Mrs. Monten!”

There was something startling in her voice.  I knew it was the first drop of a coming flood, and I fortified myself.  She went on repeating,—­

“Mrs. Monten!  I’ve been thinking, for a great long while, that it isn’t right for you to go on living with that man, without knowing what he is.  And I for one have got up to the point of coming right over here and telling you of it to once.”

I could not help the involuntary question of—­

“Is my husband an evil man?”

“Evil!  I should think he might be, when he has got”——­

“Stay, Mrs. Carter!” I interrupted.  “I will hear no news of my husband that he does not choose to give me.  Only one question,—­Do you know of any action that my husband has done that is wrong or wicked?”

Aunt Carter forgot her blue eyes and her bluer yarn, for she stopped her knitting, and her eyes changed to gray in my sight, as she ejaculated,—­

“He’s got Indian blood in him!  I should think you’d be afraid he’d scalp you, if you didn’t do just as he told you to.  Everybody in Skylight is just as sorry for you as ever they can be.”

Aunt Carter paused.  An open door announced my husband’s unexpected presence.

Aunt Carter rolled up her twenty-fourth twin of a stocking, and, hastily declaring that “she’d always noticed that ’t was better to visit people when they was alone,” she made all possible effort to escape before Saul came in.