“Well, if that ain’t sarkism!” interjected Sonora between the lines of the hymn.

   “Land where our fathers died—­”

“You bet they died hard!” cut in Trinidad, rolling his eyes upward in a comical imitation of the Indians.

   “Land of the Pilgrim’s pride,
    From every mountain side
    Let freedom ring.”

All the while the Indians were singing the last lines of the hymn the Girl’s face was a study in reminiscent dreams, but when they had finished and were leaving the room, she came back to earth, as it were, and clapped her hands, an appreciation which brought forth from Wowkle a grateful “Huh!”

“I would like to read you a little verse from a book of poems,” presently went on the teacher; and when the men had given her their attention, she read with much feeling: 

   “’No star is ever lost we once have seen,
     We always may be what we might have been.’”

“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired Sonora, greatly moved at the sight of the tears which, of a sudden, began to run down the teacher’s cheeks.  “Why, what’s—?” came simultaneously from the others, words failing them.

“Nothin’, nothin’, only it jest came over me that I’ll be leavin’ you soon,” stammered the Girl.  “How can I do it?  How can I do it?” she wailed.

Sonora gazed at her unbelievingly.

“Do what?” he said.

“What did she say?” questioned Trinidad.

Now Sonora went over to her, and asked: 

“What d’you say?  Why, what’s the matter?”

Slowly the Girl raised her head and looked at him through half-closed lids, the tears that still clung to them, blinding her almost.  Plainly audible in the silence of the room the seconds ticked away on the clock, and still she did not speak; at last she murmured: 

“Oh, it’s nothin’, nothin’, only I jest remembered I’ve promised to leave Cloudy soon an’, p’r’aps, we might never be together again—­you an’ me an’ The Polka.  Oh, it took me jest like that when I seen your dear, ol’ faces, your dear, plucky, ol’ faces an’ realised that—­” She could not go on, and buried her face in her hands, her glistening blonde head shaking with her sobs.

It was thus that the Sheriff, entering a moment later, found her. 
Without a word he resumed his seat in front of the fire.

Sonora continued to stare blankly at her.  He was too dazed to speak, much less to think.  He broke silence slowly.

“What—­you leavin’ us?”

“Leavin’ us?” inquired Happy, incredulously.

“Careful, girl, careful,” warned Nick, softly.

The Girl hesitated a moment, and then went recklessly on: 

“It’s bound to happen soon.”

Sonora looked more puzzled than ever; he rested his hand upon her desk as if to support himself, and said: 

“I don’t quite understand.  Great Gilead!  We done anythin’ to offend you?”