grave back in the unkempt little prairie
cemetery, and she sat down to coax her
sorrow into proper prominence. But the
baby cooing at her from its bunk, the low
of the cattle from the corral begging her to
relieve their heavy bags, the familiar call
of one of her neighbors from without, even
the burning sky of the summer dawns, broke
the spell of this conjured sorrow, and in
spite of herself she was again a very hearty
and happy young woman. Besides, if one
has a liking for comedy, it is impossible to
be dull on a Nebraska prairie. The people
are a merrier divertissement than the theatre
with its hackneyed stories. Catherine Ford
laughed a good deal, and she took the three
Johns into her confidence, and they laughed
with her. There was Minerva Fitch, who
insisted on coming over to tell Catherine
how to raise her children, and who was
almost offended that the children wouldn't
die of sunstroke when she predicted. And
there was Bob Ackerman, who had inflam-
matory rheumatism and a Past, and who
confided the latter to Mrs. Ford while she
doctored the former with homoeopathic
medicines. And there were all the strange
visionaries who came out prospecting, and
quite naturally drifted to Mrs. Ford's cabin
for a meal, and paid her in compliments of