“Oh, well, Margery,” said Lydia, a little impatiently, “it’s the first trouble you’ve had in all your life and it won’t kill you.  Anybody that’s as pretty as you are can live down anything.  I know our house is awful scrimpy, but we’d have some good times, anyhow.  Kent and Billy will stand by us and we’ll pull through.  See if we don’t.”

“I don’t see why she needs to go to your house,” said Elviry.  “Let her stay right here, and go up to college with you if she will.  And I don’t want to go live on a farm, either.”

“Mother, you don’t understand, yet!” exclaimed Margery.

“Elviry,” said Dave grimly, “our day is over.  All we can hope to save out of the wreck is a future for Margery.  Just get that through your head once and for all.  I think Lydia’s idea is horse sense.  But it’s for Margery to decide.”

Margery got up from her place on the floor.  “I thought we’d sell out and go to Europe for the rest of our lives,” she said, “but as Lydia says, the story would follow us there.  Dad,” sharply, “you aren’t going to sell the Last Chance and use that money?”

“I closed it up, last week,” said Dave shortly.  “I’m going to have the place torn down.”

Margery rubbed her hand over her forehead.  “Well,” she said, “I don’t see that I’d gain anything but a reputation for being a quitter, if I went to Lydia’s.  I’ll stay with you folks, but I’ll go to college, if Lydia’ll stand by me.”

Lydia rose.  “Then that’s settled.  On Monday we’ll register.  I’ll meet you on the eight o’clock car.”

“I can’t thank you, Lyd,—­” began Margery.

“I don’t want any thanks,” said Lydia, making for the door, where Dave intercepted her with outstretched hand.

Lydia looked up into his dark face and her own turned crimson.  “I can’t shake hands,” she said, “honestly, I can’t.  The Last Chance and the—­the starving squaws make me sick.  I’ll stand by Margery and help you—­but I can’t do that.”

Dave Marshall dropped his hand and turned away without a word and Lydia sped from the house into the sunset.

Amos heard Lydia’s story of her call with a none too pleased face.  “I don’t think I want you mixing up with them, in any way,” he said.

“But let me help Margery,” pleaded Lydia, “Little Patience did love her so!”

“Well—­Margery—­you can help her,” he agreed, reluctantly, “but you can’t go near their house again.  Margery will have to do all the visiting.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE MILITARY HOP

“Who shall say that I do not understand what the wind sings in my branches or that I am less than the white or more than the Indian?”—­The Murmuring Pine.

In spite of the fact that Levine had avoided her, after the hearing, and in spite of all the many half tragic ramifications of the reservation trouble, Lydia was not unhappy.  In fact, when Registration day dawned she awoke with a sense of something good impending, sang as she dressed, and piloted Margery gaily through the complications of entering the University as a “special” student.