are as grass and he is soon cut off, but took life as if they expected to hold it forever against all odds and have their wicked best from it.
Not a word said Philip ab out Stephen's sister to them. So mething innate made him shrink from speaking of her to them. They were men such as he would not like to have his own sister know. Not that he objected to them himself. They were good fellows in their way. They could tell a story well, though not always of the cleanest sort, and they were fearless in their bravery. But they were men without any moral principles whatever.
Philip, as he drove back home, silent for the most part while the men talked, reflected that his own life was not faultless, and that in the three years that had passed since he came to this country to become a part of it his own moral principles had fallen quite perceptibly. He had not noticed it until to day, but now he knew it. Somehow the coming of that girl had showed him where he stood. But he still knew what those principles were. And these two men must, if possible, be kept from knowing that Miss Halstead had come.
But how could he manage that? Stephen ought to have been warned . What a fool he was not to have taken Steve out to the barn, and had a good talk with him before he went away, for Steve would never think to be careful. He had no idea of the part he ought to play in the protection of his sister.
The two men had joked him curiously on the amount and kind of furniture they were putting into the wagons, but Philip had only laughed and put them off with other jokes; and in the code of the wild, free life, they accepted for the time, and questioned no more. They knew that when Stephen came he would tell all. Stephen could not keep a thing to himself when he got among his boon com panions. They were a trifle curious to know why Stephen did not come along when he expected so important a shipment of goods, and they were exceedingly curious over the piano, feeling sure that either Stephen or Philip was about to be married and was going to try to keep the matter quiet. But they were obliged to content themselves with Philip's dry answer, "Steve couldn't get away this morning."
Just in sight of the house Stephen came out to meet them, still half-sulky that Philip had insisted on going away alone; and Philip said a few low words to him as he halted the forward wagon, the other two men being together on their ow n wagon just behind. Stephen de murred, but Philip's insistent tones meant business, he knew, and without waiting to do more than wave a greeting to the two in the other wagon, he walked reluctantly back into the house.
In his heart he was rebelling at Philip and at his sister's presence once more. He could see plainly that it was going to hamper his own movements greatly. His friends were good enough for him, and why should his sister be too good to meet them? If she would stay here, she must take what she found. But he did as Philip told him. He told his sister that he thought she had better go into her room and shut the door until the wagons were unloaded, as they were rough fellows that Philip had brought up with him to help, and she would not want to be about with them. He said it gruffly. He did not relish saying it at all. The men were his especial friends. Had it not been that he knew in his heart that Philip was right, he would not have done it at all.
Margaret wondered, but reluctantly did as he suggested, and went thoughtfully over to the window to look out.
She was ri ght, then. Philip was wild. Ste phen knew it. Stephen was trying to help him, perhaps, to reform him or something; and that was why he was so reluctant to speak about Philip's share in the household. And now Philip had brought some of his friends, some rough men that Stephen did not approve and did not wish her to meet, to the house; and he was trying to protect her.
It was dear of Stephen to care for her that way, and she appreciated it, but she felt that it was