gentle face, talking to one or two matrons from outlying farms, and his niece by a little table turning over Eastern photographs with a few young girls.  She, too, wore black in deference to the Colonel’s taste, which was somber, and the garment she had laughed at as a compromise left uncovered a narrow strip of ivory shoulder and enhanced the polished whiteness of her neck.  A slender string of pearls gleamed softly on the satiny skin, but Maud Barrington wore no other adornment, and did not need it.  She had inherited the Courthorne comeliness, and the Barringtons she sprang from on her father’s side had always borne the stamp of distinction.

A young girl sat at the piano singing in a thin reedy voice, while an English lad waited with the ill-concealed jealousy of a too officious companion to turn over the music by her side.  Other men, mostly young, with weather-bronzed faces, picturesque in embroidered deerskin or velvet lounge jackets, were scattered about the room, and all were waiting for the eight o’clock dinner, which replaced the usual prairie supper at Silverdale.  They were growers of wheat who combined a good deal of amusement with a little, not very profitable, farming, and most of them possessed a large share of insular English pride and a somewhat depleted exchequer.

Presently Dane crossed over, and sat down by Colonel Barrington.  “You are silent, sir, and not looking very well to-night,” he said.

Barrington nodded gravely, for he had a respect for the one man who occasionally spoke plain truth to him.  “The fact is, I am growing old,” he said, and then added, with what was only an apparent lack of connection, “Wheat is down three cents, and money tighter than ever.”

Dane looked thoughtful, and noticed the older man’s glance in his niece’s direction, as he said, “I am afraid there are difficult times before us.”

“I have no doubt we shall weather them as we have done before,” said the Colonel.  “Still, I can’t help admitting that just now I feel—­a little tired—­and am commencing to think we should have been better prepared for the struggle had we worked a trifle harder during the recent era of prosperity.  I could wish there were older heads on the shoulders of those who will come after me.”

Just then Maud Barrington glanced at them, and Dane, who could not remember having heard his leader talk in that fashion before, and could guess his anxieties, was a little touched as he noticed his attempt at sprightliness.  As it happened, one of the lads at the piano commenced a song of dogs and horses that had little to recommend it but the brave young voice.

“They have the right spirit, sir,” he said.

“Of course!” said Barrington.  “They are English lads, but I think a little more is required.  Thank God we have not rated the dollar too high, but it is possible we have undervalued its utility, and I fear I have only taught them to be gentlemen.”