Helen agreed with Sadie; she often wished Stephen would talk to her about his anxieties.  He wanted to save her and had confidence in himself, but she felt that he left her out too much.

“How does the sand damage the wheat?” she asked.

“Cuts the stalk.  Takes time, of course, but the sharp grit puts down the grain like a binder knife, if it blows through the field long enough.  However, I’m not worrying much about that; there are worse things than the sand and drought.  We’re fools and make our real troubles; that’s what’s the matter with us.”

Helen smiled.  Sadie was amusing when philosophized, but Helen thought her views were sound.  She had chosen a stern country, but its stinging cold and boisterous winds were invigorating, and with pluck one could overcome its material obstacles.  It was human weaknesses that made for unhappiness.

“Well,” she said, “we must hope the rain will come; but hadn’t we better go by the long bluff?  The new man has put a fence across the other trail.”

Sadie left the trail, and as they crossed a hollow the tall grass rustled about the horses’ legs.  It had lost its verdure; the red lilies and banks of yellow flowers had withered on their parched stalks.  When they reached the level the grass was only a few inches high and the wide plain rolled back in the strong light, shining pale-yellow and gray.  It was only when the shadows passed that one could see streaks and patches of faded green.  In the distance a cluster of roofs broke the bare expanse, and Helen knew they marked the Wilkinson ranch.  A horse and buggy approached it, looking very small, and she glanced at Sadie, who said nothing, although her face was stern.  By and by the latter stopped her team in front of the homestead and fastened the reins to a post.

“Now,” she said, “you sit on the veranda and wait for me.  It was Wilkinson’s rig we saw, and I’ll find him in.”

Wilkinson looked up from the table at which he was writing when Sadie entered the room.  He was, on the whole, a handsome man, but was rather fat, and his black eyes were unusually close together.  This perhaps accounted for the obliquity of his glance, which, some believed, conveyed a useful hint about his character.  He was neatly dressed in light, summer clothes, although the farmers generally wore brown overalls.  As he got up his look indicated that he was trying to hide his annoyance.

“This is something of a surprise, Mrs. Charnock,” he said politely.  “However, if there’s anything I can do—­”

“You can sit down again in the meantime,” Sadie replied, and occupied a chair opposite, with the quirt on her knee.  “To begin with, if you’re writing to your Winnipeg friend, you had better wait a bit.”

“I’m not writing to Winnipeg; but don’t see what this has to do with your visit.”

“Then you haven’t sent off Bob’s cheque yet!  I mean to get it back.”

Wilkinson saw that he had made a rash admission.  Mrs. Charnock was cleverer than he thought.