“Does he whip you much?”

“Not very much ... only when I need it ... and then when I cry, he stops—­so it is never very hard!”

I laughed at the boy’s frank philosophy....

“But daddy’s so funny ... not at all like other daddies,” wistfully.

* * * * *

I did not grow friendly enough with Mrs. Baxter even to call her by her first name of Hildreth ... during that brief visit....

Hildreth Baxter was always moving about leisurely, gracefully, like some strange, pretty animal.  Not shy, just indifferent, as if processes of thought were going on inside of her that made an inner world that sufficed, to the exclusion of all exterior happenings.

She had a beautiful small head with heavy dark hair; large, brown, thoughtful eyes ... a face so strong as to be handsome rather than beautiful.  She walked about in bloomers, languidly conscious that her legs were graceful and lovely....

To her I was, at that time, merely one of her husband’s visiting friends....

* * * * *

After little Daniel had manfully squared himself with his conscience, Penton did not whip him.  He came to me.

“I did not punish my boy:  because it was you, Johnnie, that tempted him,” and he flushed angrily.  “I’m sure you didn’t consider what you were doing.  If I thought you did it out of deliberation, I would never speak to you again ... you must learn not to tamper with the ideals of others, Johnnie.”

I apologised.  I spoke of my reverence and regard for him and his greatness.  I asked him to forgive me, which he did.  And, as I pronounced him to be as great at Shelley, the Rousseau of America—­his naive, youthful face wreathed with smiles and peace fell between us again.

* * * * *

“I am thinking of going to live at Eden, the Single Tax Colony not far from Philadelphia ...  I want you to come there and visit us in the spring.  In the meantime don’t let them make you bourgeois in Kansas ... don’t let them smash you into the academic mould.”

“They haven’t so far, have they?”

“But what in the world are you going back to Kansas for?”

“Because I have them trained there to accept me.  I can do pretty much as I choose at the university.  But mainly I want to write my four-act play in earnest—­my New Testament drama, Judas.  And I know of no better place to go to.”

“Good-bye, and don’t fail to pay me a visit in the spring.”

“I will ... for a few weeks ... on my way to Paris.”

“Paris?  How are you going to get there?”

“I’ll take a few cars of cattle east to New York from the Kansas City stock yards ... and I’ll work my way across on a cattle boat.”

“Good-bye!  I wish I had your initiative!”

“Good-bye!  Mrs. Baxter ... glad to have met you!”

“Good-bye, Mr. Gregory,” and she dropped my hand quickly and turned on her heel, walking away with easy grace.  I admired the back of her legs as she disappeared into her tent.