at Orde. "He was rather nice to us this afternoon," she explained,
"and it's always well to be polite to them anyway." She gazed
steadily at Orde for signs of amusement. He resolutely held his
face sympathetic.

"Now I think we'll go home," said she.

They made their way between the stumps to the edge of the sand-hill
overlooking the village. With one accord they stopped. The low-
slanting sun cast across the vista a sleepy light of evening.

"How would you like to live in a place like that all your life?"
asked Orde.

"I don't know." She weighed her words carefully. "It would depend.
The place isn't of so much importance, it seems to me. It's the
life one is called to. It's whether one finds her soul's realm or
not that a place is liveable or not. I can imagine entering my
kingdom at a railway water-tank," she said quaintly, "or missing it
entirely in a big city."

Orde looked out over the raw little village with a new interest.

"Of course I can see how a man's work can lie in a small place,"
said he; "but a woman is different."

"Why is a woman different?" she challenged. "What is her 'work,' as
you call it; and why shouldn't it, as well as a man's, lie in a
small place? What is work--outside of drudgery--unless it is
correspondence of one's abilities to one's task?"