At length, on a frosty evening, he saw the last load vanish into the dusty elevator, and a curious feeling of regret crept over him.  It was very doubtful if he would haul in another harvest, and he wondered whether the time would now and then hang heavily on his hands in England.  There was a roar of machinery above him in the tail building that cut sharply against the sky; below, long rows of wagons stood waiting their turn, and the voices of the teamsters, bantering one another, struck cheerfully on his ears.  Side-track and little station were bathed in dazzling electric glare, two locomotives were pushing in wheat cars, and lights had begun to glimmer in the wooden houses of the Butte, though all round there was the vast sweep of prairie.

There was a touch of rawness in the picture, a hint of incompleteness, with a promise of much to come.  Sage Butte was, perhaps, a trifle barbarous; but its crude frame buildings would some day give place to more imposing piles of concrete and steel.  Its inhabitants were passing through a transition stage, showing signs at times of the primitive strain, but, as a rule, reaching out eagerly toward what was new and better.  They would make swift progress, and even now he liked the strenuous, optimistic, and somewhat rugged life they led; he reflected that he would find things different in sheltered England.

After giving Grierson a few instructions, George turned away.  His work was done; instead of driving home through the sharp cold of the night, he was to spend it comfortably at the hotel.

A week later, he and West drove over to the Grant homestead and found only its owner in the general-room.  Grant listened with a rather curious expression when George told him that he was starting for England the following day; and then they quietly talked over the arrangements that had been made for carrying on the farm until Edgar’s return, for George’s future movements were uncertain.  Edgar, however, was sensible of a constraint in the farmer’s manner, which was presently felt by George, and the conversation was languishing when Flora came in.  Shortly afterward George said that they must go and Flora strolled toward the fence with him while the team was being harnessed.

“So you are leaving us to-morrow and may not come back?” she said, in an indifferent tone.

“I can’t tell what I shall do until I get to England.”

Flora glanced at him with a composure that cost her an effort.  She supposed his decision would turn upon Mrs. Marston’s attitude, but she knew Sylvia well, and had a suspicion that there was a disappointment in store for Lansing.  Edgar had explained that he was not rich, and he was not the kind of man Sylvia was likely to regard with favor.

“Well,” she said lightly, “when I came in, you really didn’t look as cheerful as one might have expected.  Are you sorry you are going away?”

“It’s a good deal harder than I thought.  The prairie seems to have got hold of me; I have good friends here.”