Kent’s reply to this was a non-committal grunt.

It was late in May that he told Lydia what John Levine had finally accomplished, in his silent months of work in Washington.  The morning after he told Lydia, Lake City was ringing with the news.  The Indians on the reservation were to be removed bodily to a reservation in the Southwest.  The reservation was then to be thrown open to white settlement.

“What will poor Charlie Jackson say?” were Lydia’s first words.

Kent shrugged his shoulders.  “Poor old scout!  He’ll have to make a new start in the West.  But isn’t it glorious news, Lyd!  The land reverts to the Government and the Land Office opens it, just as in pioneer days.  Everybody who’s title’s in question now can reenter under settlement laws.  Isn’t Levine a wizard!  Why don’t you say something, Lydia?”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Lydia.  “I’m sick at heart for the Indians.  But I’m glad that the awful temptation of the pines is going to be taken away from Lake City.  Though how good can come out of a wrong, I’m not sure.  I don’t understand Mr. Levine.  Oh, dear!  It’s all wrong.  When do the Indians go?”

“The last of June.  It’s funny, Lydia, that you don’t have more sympathy with my work,” replied Kent, gloomily.

“Oh, Kent!” cried Lydia, “I want to believe that everything you do is right but something’s the matter with my mind, I seem to have to decide matters of right and wrong for myself.  When will Mr. Levine come home?”

“Next month.  Well, there’s one consolation.  You’ve always been crazy about Levine and you don’t approve of him, either.”

Lydia flushed.  “Oh, I don’t say that I don’t approve of him.  I just don’t understand him.  Maybe he really believes the end justifies the means.”

“Huh!  Isn’t that just what I believe?” demanded Kent.  He looked at her so happily, his boyish eyes so appealing, his square chin so belligerent, that Lydia suddenly laughed and gave his ear a tweak.

“Poor old vanity!  Did he want all the ladies to adore him?  Well, they do, so cheer up!”

Kent grinned.  “Lyd, you’re a goose and a good old pal!  Hang it, I’m glad you’ve got brain enough to stick to your own opinions!”

On a Sunday afternoon, late in June, John Levine turned in at the gate as casually as though he had left but the day before.  Lydia was inspecting the garden with her father, when she heard Adam bark and whine a welcome to some one.

“Oh, there he is, Daddy!” she cried, and she dashed down the rows of young peas, her white skirts fluttering, both hands extended.

John seized her hands and for a moment the two stood smiling and looking into each other’s face.  Except that he was grayer, Levine was unchanged.  He broke the silence to say, “Well!  Well! young Lydia, you are grown up.  I don’t see how you manage to look so grown up, when your face remains unchanged.”