some　inexplicable　way　Nature　struck　a　terrible　balancerevenged　herself　upon　a　people　who　had　no　children；　or　who　brought　into　the　world　children　not　created　by　the　divinity　of　love；　unyearned　for；　and　therefore　somehow　doomed　to　carry　on　the　blunders　and　burdens　of　life。
  Carley　realized　how　right　and　true　it　might　be　for　her　to　throw　herself　away　upon　an　inferior　man；　even　a　fool　or　a　knave；　if　she　loved　him　with　that　great　and　natural　love　of　woman；　likewise　it　dawned　upon　her　how　false　and　wrong　and　sinful　it　would　be　to　marry　the　greatest　or　the　richest　or　the　noblest　man　unless　she　had　that　supreme　love　to　give　him；　and　knew　it　was　reciprocated。
  〃What　am　I　going　to　do　with　my　life？〃　she　asked；　bitterly　and　aghast。　〃I　have　beenI　am　a　waster。　I've　lived　for　nothing　but　pleasurable　sensation。　I'm　utterly　useless。　I　do　absolutely　no　good　on　earth。〃
  Thus　she　saw　how　Harrington's　words　rang　truehow　they　had　precipitated　a　crisis　for　which　her　unconscious　brooding　had　long　made　preparation。
  〃Why　not　give　up　ideals　and　be　like　the　rest　of　my　kind？〃　she　soliloquized。
  That　was　one　of　the　things　which　seemed　wrong　with　modern　life。　She　thrust　the　thought　from　her　with　passionate　scorn。　If　poor；　broken；　ruined　Glenn　Kilbourne　could　cling　to　an　ideal　and　fight　for　it；　could　not　she；　who　had　all　the　world　esteemed　worth　while；　be　woman　enough　to　do　the　same？　The　direction　of　her　thought　seemed　to　have　changed。　She　had　been　ready　for　rebellion。　Three　months　of　the　old　life　had　shown　her　that　for　her　it　was　empty；　vain；　farcical；　without　one　redeeming　feature。　The　naked　truth　was　brutal；　but　it　cut　clean　to　wholesome　consciousness。　Such　so…called　social　life　as　she　had　plunged　into　deliberately　to　forget　her　unhappiness　had　failed　her　utterly。　If　she　had　been　shallow　and　frivolous　it　might　have　done　otherwise。　Stripped　of　all　guise；　her　actions　must　have　been　construed　by　a　penetrating　and　impartial　judge　as　a　mere　parading　of　her　decorated　person　before　a　number　of　males　with　the　purpose　of　ultimate　selection。
  〃I've　got　to　find　some　work；〃　she　muttered；　soberly。
  At　the　moment　she　heard　the　postman's　whistle　outside；　and　a　little　later　the　servant　brought　up　her　mail。　The　first　letter；　large；　soiled；　thick；　bore　the　postmark　Flagstaff；　and　her　address　in　Glenn　Kilbourne's　writing。
  Carley　stared　at　it。　Her　heart　gave　a　great　leap。　Her　hand　shook。　She　sat　down　suddenly　as　if　the　strength　of　her　legs　was　inadequate　to　uphold　her。
  〃Glenn　haswritten　me！〃　she　whispered；　in　slow；　halting　realization。　〃For　what？　Oh；　why？〃
  The　other　letters　fell　off　her　lap；　to　lie　unnoticed。　This　big　thick　envelope　fascinated　her。　It　was　one　of　the　stamped　envelopes　she　had　seen　in　his　cabin。　It　contained　a　letter　that　had　been　written　on　his　rude　table；　before　the　open　fire；　in　the　light　of　the　doorway；　in　that　little　log…cabin　under　the　spreading　pines　of　West　Ford　Canyon。　Dared　she　read　it？　The　shock　to　her　heart　passed；　and　with　mounting　swell；　seemingly　too　full　for　her　breast；　it　began　to　beat　and　throb　a　wild　gladness　through　all　her　being。　She　tore　the　envelope　apart　and　read：
  DEAR　CARLEY：
  I'm　surely　glad　for　a　good　excuse　to　write　you。
  Once　in　a　blue　moon　I　get　a　letter；　and　today　Hutter　brought　me　one　from　a　soldier　pard　of　mine　who　was　with　me　in　the　Argonne。　His　name　is　Virgil　Rustqueer　name；　don't　you　think？and　he's　from　Wisconsin。　Just　a　rough…　diamond　sort　of　chap；　but　fairly　well　educated。　He　and　I　were　in　some　pretty　hot　places；　and　it　was　he　who　pulled　me　out　of　a　shell　crater。　I'd　〃gone　west〃　sure　then　if　it　hadn't　been　for　Rust。
  Well；　he　did　all　sorts　of　big　things　during　the　war。　Was　down　several　times　with　wounds。　He　liked　to　fight　and　he　was　a　holy　terror。　We　all　thought　he'd　get　medals　and　promotion。　But　he　didn't　get　either。　These　much…desired　things　did　not　always　go　where　they　were　best　deserved。
  Rust　is　now　lying　in　a　hospital　in　Bedford　Park。　His　letter　is　pretty　blue；　All　he　says　about　why　he's　there　is　that　he's　knocked　out。　But　he　wrote　a　heap　about　his　girl。　It　seems　he　was　in　love　with　a　girl　in　his　home　town　a　pretty；　big…eyed　lass　whose　picture　I've　seenand　while　he　was　overseas　she　married　one　of　the　chaps　who　got　out　of　fighting。　Evidently　Rust　is　deeply　hurt。　He　wrote：　〃I'd　not　care　so　。　。　。　if　she'd　thrown　me　down　to　marry　an　old　man　or　a　boy　who　couldn't　have　gone　to　war。〃　You　see；　Carley；　service　men　feel　queer　about　that　sort　of　thing。　It's　something　we　got　over　there；　and　none　of　us　will　ever　outlive　it。　Now；　the　point　of　this　is　that　I　am　asking　you　to　go　see　Rust；　and　cheer　him　up；　and　do　what　you　can　for　the　poor　devil。　It's　a　good　deal　to　ask　of　you；　I　know；　especially　as　Rust　saw　your　picture　many　a　time　and　knows　you　were　my　girl。　But　you　needn't　tell　him　that　youwe　couldn't　make　a　go　of　it。
  And；　as　I　am　writing　this　to　you；　I　see　no　reason　why　I　shouldn't　go　on　in　behalf　of　myself。
  The　fact　is；　Carley；　I　miss　writing　to　you　more　than　I　miss　anything　of　my　old　life。　I'll　bet　you　have　a　trunkful　of　letters　from　meunless　you've　destroyed　them。　I'm　not　going　to　say　how　I　miss　your　letters。　But　I　will　say　you　wrote　the　most　charming　and　fascinating　letters　of　anyone　I　ever　knew；　quite　aside　from　any　sentiment。　You　knew；　of　course；　that　I　had　no　other　girl　correspondent。　Well；　I　got　along　fairly　well　before　you　came　West；　but　I'd　be　an　awful　liar　if　I　denied　I　didn't　get　lonely　for　you　and　your　letters。　It's　different　now　that　you've　been　to　Oak　Creek。　I'm　alone　most　of　the　time　and　I　dream　a　lot；　and　I'm　afraid　I　see　you　here　in　my　cabin；　and　along　the　brook；　and　under　the　pines；　and　riding　Calicowhich　you　came　to　do　welland　on　my　hogpen　fenceand；　oh；　everywhere！　I　don't　want　you　to　think　I'm　down　in　the　mouth；　for　I'm　not。　I'll　take　my　medicine。　But；　Carley；　you　spoiled　me；　and　I　miss　hearing　from　you；　and　I　don't　see　why　it　wouldn't　be　all　right　for　you　to　send　me　a　friendly　letter　occasionally。
  It　is　autumn　now。　I　wish　you　could　see　Arizona　canyons　in　their　gorgeous　colors。　We　have　had　frost　right　along　and　the　mornings　are　great。　There's　a　broad　zigzag　belt　of　gold　halfway　up　the　San　Francisco　peaks；　and　that　is　the　aspen　thickets　taking　on　their　fall　coat。　Here　in　the　canyon　you'd　think　there　was　blazing　fire　everywhere。　The　vines　and　the　maples　are　red；　scarlet；　carmine；　cerise；　magenta；　all　the　hues　of　flame。　The　oak　leaves　are　turning　russet　gold；　and　the　sycamores　are　yellow　green。　Up　on　the　desert　the　other　day　I　rode　across　a　patch　of　asters；　lilac　and　lavender；　almost　purple。　I　had　to　get　off　and　pluck　a　handful。　And　then　what　do　you　think？　I　dug　up　the　whole　bunch；　roots　and　all；　and　planted　them　on　the　sunny　side　of　my　cabin。　I　rather　guess　your　love　of　flowers　engendered　this　remarkable　susceptibility　in　me。
  I'm　home　early　most　every　afternoon　now；　and　I　like　the　couple　of　hours　loafing　around。　Guess　it's　bad　for　me；　though。　You　know　I　seldom　hunt；　and　the　trout　in　the　pool　here　are　so　tame　now　they'll　almost　eat　out　of　my　hand。　I　haven't　the　heart　to　fish　for　them。　The　squirrels；　too；　have　grown　tame　and　friendly。　There's　a　red　squirrel　that　climbs　up　on　my　table。　And　there's　a　chipmunk　who　lives　in　my　cabin　and　runs　over　my　bed。　I've　a　new　petthe　little　pig　you　christened　Pinky。　After　he　had　the　wonderful　good　fortune　to　be　caressed　and　named　by　you　I　couldn't　think　of　letting　him　grow　up　in　an　ordinary　piglike　manner。　So　I　fetched　him　home。　My　dog；　Moze；　was　jealous　at　first　and　did　not　like　this　intrusion；　but　now　they　are　good　friends　and　sleep　together。　Flo　has　a　kitten　she's　going　to　give　me；　and　then；　as　Hutter　says；　I'll　be　〃Jake。〃
  My　occupation　during　these　leisure　hours　perhaps　would　strike　my　old　friends　East　as　idle；　silly；　mawkish。　But　I　believe　you　will　understand　me。
  I　have　the　pleasure　of　doing　nothing；　and　of　catching　now　and　then　a　glimpse　of　supreme　joy　in　the　strange　state　of　thinking　nothing。　Tennyson　came　close　to　this　in　his　〃Lotus　Eaters。〃　Only　to　seeonly　to　feel　is　enough！
  Sprawled　on　the　warm　sweet　pine　needles；　I　breathe　through　them　the　breath　of　the　earth　and　am　somehow　no　longer　lonely。　I　cannot；　of　course；　see　the　sunset；　but　I　watch　for　its　coming　on　the　eastern　wall　of　the　canyon。　I　see　the　shadow　slowly　creep　up；　driving　the　gold　before　it；　until　at　last　the　canyon　rim　and　pines　are　turned　to　golden　fire。　I　watch　the　sailing　eagles　as　they　streak　across　the　gold；　and　swoop　up　into　the　blue；　and　pass　out　of　sight。　I　watch　the　golden　flush　fade　to　gray；　and　then；　the　canyon　slowly　fills　with　purple　shadows。　This　hour　of　twilight　is　the　silent　and　melancholy　one。　Seldom　is　there　any　sound　save　the　soft　rush　of　the　water　over　the　stones；　and　that　seems　to　die　away。　For　a　moment；　perhaps；　I　am　Hiawatha　alone　in　his　forest　home；　or　a　more　primitive　savage；　feeling　the　great；　silent　pulse　of　nature；　happy　in　unconsciousness；　like　a　beast　of　the　wild。　But　only　for　an　instant　do　I　ever　catch　this　fleeting　state。　Next　I　am　Glenn　Kilbourne　of　West　Fork；　doomed　and　haunted　by　memories　of　the　past。　The　great　looming　walls　then　become　no　longer　blank。　They　are　vast　pages　of　the　history　of　my　life；　with　its　past　and　present；　and；　alas！　its　future。　Everything　time　does　is　written　on　the　stones。　And　my　stream　seems　to　murmur　the