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She had not yet reached self-consciousness in her regard for the young preacher–she thought of him as a noble human being, liable to death, and she chirped again and again to the flying colt, whose broad hoofs flung the snow in stinging showers against her face.

A call at the doctor’s house set him jogging out along the lanes, while she sent a telegram to Herman. As she whirled bay Tom into the road to go home her heart rose in relief that was almost exaltation. She loved horses. She always sang under her breath, chiming to the beat of their bells, when alone, and now she loosened the rein and hummed an old love-song, while the powerful young horse squared away in a trot which was twelve miles an hour.

In such air, in such sun, who could die? Her good animal strength rose dominant over fear of death.

She came upon the doctor swinging along in his old blue cutter, dozing in country-doctor style, making up for lost sleep.

“Out o’ the way, doctor!” she gleefully called.

The doctor roused up and looked around with a smile. He was not beyond admiring such a girl as that. He snapped his whip-lash lightly on old Sofia’s back, who looked up surprised, and, seeming to comprehend matters, began to reach out broad, flat, thin legs in a pace which the proud colt respected. She came of illustrious line, did Sofia, scant-haired and ungracious as she now was.

“Don’t run over me!” called the doctor, ironically, and, with Sofia still leading, they swung into the yard.

Mattie went in with the doctor, while Allen looked after both horses. They found Chapman attending Wallace, who lay in a dazed quiet–conscious, but not definitely aware of material things.

The doctor looked his patient over carefully. Then he asked, “Who is the yoong mon?”

“He’s been teaching here, or, rather, preaching.”

“When did this coom on?”

“Last night. Wound up a big revival last night, I believe. Kind o’ caved in, I reckon.”

“That’s all. Needs rest. He’ll be wearin’ a wood jacket if he doosna leave off preachin’.”

“Regular jamboree. I couldn’t stop him. One of these periodical neighborhood ‘awakenings,’ they call it.”

“They have need of it here, na doot.”

“Well, they need something–love for God–or man.”

“M–well! It’s lettle I can do. The wumman can do more, if the mon’ll be eatin’ what they cuke for ‘im,” said the candid old Scotchman. “Mak’ ‘im eat! Mak’ ‘im eat!”

Once more Tom pounded along the shining road to Kesota to meet the six-o’clock train from Chicago.

Herman, magnificently clothed in fur-lined ulster and cap, alighted with unusually grave face, and hurried toward Mattie.

“Well, what is it, Sis? Mother sick?”

“No; it’s the teacher. He is unconscious. I’ve been for the doctor. Oh, we were scared!”

He looked relieved, but a little chagrined. “Oh, well, I don’t see why I should be yanked out of my boots by a telegram because the teacher is sick! He isn’t kin–yet.”

For the first time a feeling of confusion swept over Mattie, and her face flushed.

Herman’s keen eyes half closed as he looked into her face.

“Mat–what–what! Now look here–how’s this? Where’s Ben Holly’s claim?”

“He never had any.” She shifted ground quickly. “Oh, Herman, we had a wonderful time last night! Father and Uncle Marsden shook hands–“

“What!” shouted Herman, as he fell in a limp mass against the cutter. “Bring a physician–I’m stricken.”

“Don’t act so! Everybody’s looking.”

“They’d better look. I’m drowning while they wait.”

She untied the horse and came back.

“Climb in there and stop your fooling, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He crawled in with tearing groans of mock agony, and then leaned his head against her shoulder. “Well, go on, Sis; I can bear it now.”

She nudged him to make him sit up.

“Well, you know we’ve had a revival.”

“So you wrote. Must have been a screamer to fetch Dad and old Marsden. A regular Pentecost of Shinar.”

“It was–I mean it was beautiful. I saw father was getting stirred up. He prayed almost all day yesterday, and at night–Well, I can’t tell you, but Wallace talked, oh, so beautiful and tender!”