When Follett came riding back that evening he saw that Prudence had been troubled.  The candle-light showed sadness in her dark eyes and in the weighted corners of her mouth.  He was moved to take her in his arms and soothe her as he had seen mothers do with sorry little children.  But instead of this he questioned her father sharply when their corn-husk mattresses had been put before either side of the fireplace for the night.  The little man told him frankly the cause of her grief.  There was something compelling in the other’s way of asking questions.  When the thing had been made plain, Follett looked at him indignantly.

“Do you mean to say you let her go on thinking that about herself?”

“I told her that her father and mother had been rightly married.”

“Didn’t she think you were fooling her in some way?”

“I—­I can’t be sure—­”

“She must have, or she wouldn’t be so down in the mouth now.  Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

“If only—­if only she could go on thinking I am her father—­only a little while—­”

Follett spoke with the ring of a sudden resolution in his voice.

“Now I’ll tell you one thing, Mister man, something has got to be done by some one.  I can’t do it because I’m tied by a promise, and so I reckon you ought to!”

“Just a little time!  Oh, if you only knew how the knives cut me on every side and the fires burn all through me!”

“Well, think of the knives cutting that girl,—­making her believe she has to be ashamed of her mother.  You go to sleep now, and try to lie quiet; there ain’t anything here to hurt you.  But I’ll tell you one thing,—­you’ve got to toe the mark.”

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The Mission Service in Box Canon is Suspended

Follett waited with a new eagerness next day for their walk to the canon.  But Prudence, looking at him with eyes that sorrow was clouding, said that she could not go.  He felt a sharp new resentment against the man who was letting her suffer rather than betray himself, and he again resolved that this man must be made to “toe the mark,” to “take his needings;” and that, meantime, the deceived girl must be effectually reassured.  Something must be said to take away the hurt that was tugging at the corners of her smile to draw them down.  To this end he pleaded with her not to deprive him of the day’s lesson, especially as the time was now at hand when he must leave.  And so ably did he word his appeal to her sense of duty that at last she consented to go.

Once in the canon, however, where the pines had stored away the cool gloom of the night against the day’s heat, she was glad she had come.  For, better than being alone with that strange, new hurt, was it to have by her side this friendly young man, who somehow made her feel as if it were right and safe to lean upon him,—­despite his unregenerate condition.  And presently there, in the zeal of saving his soul, she was almost happy again.