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“Mollie, girl, won’t you–just once?”

“No, no–not that! Don’t ask it.” Passionately the brown hands flew to the brown cheeks, covering them protectingly. But at once came thought, the spirit of sacrifice, and contrition for the involuntary repulse.

“Forgive me, Steve; I’m unaccountable to-night.” Her voice, her manner were constrained, subdued. She accepted his injured look without comment, without further defence. She saw the perplexed look on his thin face; then she reached forward–up–and her two soft hands brought his face down to the level of her own.

Deliberately, voluntarily, she kissed him fair upon the lips.

II

The sun was just peering over the rim of the prairie, when Mrs. Warren turned in from the dusty road, picked her way among the browning weeds to the plain, unpainted, shanty-like structure which marked the presence of a homesteader. Except to the east, where stood the tents and shacks of the new railroad’s construction gang, not another human habitation broke the dull, monotonous rolling sea of prairie.

Mrs. Warren pounded vigorously upon the rough boards of the door.

A full half-minute she waited; then she glared petulantly at the unresponsive barrier, and pounded upon it again.

Ordinarily she would have waited patiently, for the multitude of duties of one day often found Mrs. Babcock still weary with the dawning of the next–especially since Steve had allied himself with Jack Warren’s engineering corps.

Funds had run low, and the two valetudinarians had reached the stage of desperation where they were driven to acknowledge failure, when Jack Warren happened along, in the van of the new railroad.

The work of home-building, from the raw material, had been too much for Steve’s enfeebled physique; so it happened that Mollie performed most of his share, as well as all of her own. Yet Steve toiled to the limit of his endurance, and each day, at sundown, flung himself upon his blanket, spread beneath the stars, dog-tired, fairly trembling with weariness. But he soon developed a prodigious appetite, and, after the first few weeks, slept each night like a dead man, until sunrise.

This morning Annie Warren was too full of her errand to pause an instant. She stood a moment listening, one ear to the splintery, unfinished boards, then–

“Mollie,” she ventured, “are you awake?”

No answer.

“Mollie”–more insistent, “wake up and let me in.”

Still no response.

“Mollie,” for the third time, “it is I, Annie; may I enter?”

“Come.” The voice was barely audible.

Within the uncomfortably low, dim room the visitor impetuously crossed the earthen floor half-way to a rude bunk built against the wall, then paused, her round, childlike face soberly lengthening.

“Mollie, you have been crying!” she charged, resentfully, as if the act constituted a personal offence. “You can’t deceive me. The pillow is soaked, and your eyes are red.” She came forward, impulsively, and threw herself on the bed, her arm about the other.

“What is it? Tell me–your friend–Annie.”

Beneath the light coverlet, Mollie Babcock made a motion of deprecation, almost of repugnance.

“It is nothing. Please don’t pay any attention to me.”

“But it is something. Am I not your friend?”

For a moment neither spoke. Annie Warren all at once became conscious that the other woman was looking at her in a way she had never done before.

“Assuredly you are my friend, Annie. But just the same, it’s nothing.” The look altered until it became a smile.

“Tell me, instead, why you are here,” Mollie went on. “It is not usual at this time of day.”

Annie Warren felt the rebuff, and she was hurt.

“It is nothing.” The visitor was on her feet, her voice again resentful; her chin was held high, while her long lashes drooped. “Pardon me for intruding, for–“

“Annie!”

No answer save the quiver of a sensitive red lip.

“Annie, child, pardon me. I wouldn’t for the world hurt you; but it is so hard, what you ask.” Mollie Babcock rose, now, likewise. “However, if you wish–“

“No, no!” The storm was clearing. “It was all my fault. I know you’d rather not.” She had grasped Mollie’s arms, and was forcing her backward, toward the bunk, gently, smilingly. “Be still. I’ve something to tell you. Are you quite ready to listen?”