One source of relief to Lydia during the summer was that Mrs. Marshall and Margery spent two months in the East.  Lydia had faithfully kept in touch with Margery ever since her promise had been given to Dave Marshall.  But she did not like the banker’s daughter—­nor her mother.  So again as far as playmates were concerned Lydia spent a solitary summer.

Yet she was not lonely.  Never before had the lake seemed so beautiful to her.  Sitting on the little pier with Adam while her father worked in his garden, she watched the sunset across the water, night after night.  There was nothing that seemed to bring her nearer to a sense of God than this.  Night after night the miracle, always the same, always different.  The sun slipped down behind the distant hills, the clouds turned purple in the Western hill tops, fading toward the zenith to an orange that turned to azure as she watched.  The lake beneath painted the picture again, with an added shimmer, a more mysterious glow.  Little fish flashed like flecks of gold from the water, dropping back in a shower of amethyst.  Belated dragon flies darted home.  And the young girl watching, listening, waiting, felt her spirit expand to a demand greater than she could answer.

Amos was keenly interested in Levine’s campaign.  His attitude toward politics was curiously detached, when one considered that he was saturated with information—­both as to state and national politics.  He was vicious in his criticism of the Democrats, ardent in his support of the Republicans, yet it never seemed to occur to him that it was his political duty to do anything more than talk.  He seemed to feel that his ancestors in helping to launch the government had forever relieved him from any duty more onerous than that of casting a vote.

He did, however, take Lydia one September evening just before school opened to hear John make a speech in the Square.  Lydia up to this time had given little heed to the campaign, but she was delighted with the unwonted adventure of being away from home in the evening.

It was a soft, moonlit night.  The old Square, filled with giant elms, was dotted with arc lights that threw an undulating light on the gray mass of the Capitol building.  When Amos and Lydia arrived the Square was full of a laughing, chattering crowd.  Well dressed men and women from the University and the lake shore, workingmen, smoking black pipes, pushing baby carriages, while their wives in Sunday best hung on their arms.  Young boys and girls of Lydia’s age chewed gum and giggled.  Older boys and girls kept to the shadows of the elms and whispered.  On the wooden platform extended from the granite steps of the Capitol, a band dispensed dance music and patriotic airs, breaking into “America” as Levine made his way to the front of the platform.

Almost instantly the crowd became quiet.  A curious sort of tenseness became apparent as Levine began to speak.