[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

LOTTIE assumed an unusual degree of gayety
during the early part of the meal, but her flow
of spirits seemed unequal, and to flag toward the last.
She had sudden fits of abstraction, during which her
jetty eyebrows contracted into unwonted frowns.

Her practical joke did not promise as well as on
the evening before. That unexpected half-hour's
talk had shown some actions in a new light. She
did not mind doing wicked things that had a spice
of hardihood and venturesomeness in them. But to
do what had been made to appear mean and dishonorable
was another thing, and she was provoked
enough at Hemstead for having unconsciously given
that aspect to her action and character, and still
more annoyed and perplexed, that her conscience
should so positively side with him. Thus it will be
seen that her conscience was unawakened, rather than
seared and deadened.

As she came to know Hemstead better, she found
that he was different from what she had expected.
The conventional idea of a theological student had
dwelt in her mind; and she had expected to find a
rather narrow and spiritually conceited man, full of

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

the clerical mannerisms which she had often heard
laughed at. But she saw that Hemstead's awkwardness
would wear away, through familiarity with
society, and that when at ease, he was simple and
manly in manner. She also perceived that this
seclusion from the world, which was the cause of his
diffidence, had been employed in training and richly
storing his mind. Moreover, to one so accustomed
to the insincerity of society, his perfect frankness of
speech and manner was a novelty, interesting, if not
always pleasing. She read his thoughts as she would
an open page, and saw that he esteemed her as a
true, sincere girl, kind and womanly, and that he had
for her the strongest respect. She feared that when
he discovered her true self, he would scorn her to
loathing. Not that she cared, except that her pride
would be hurt. But as she was more proud than
vain, she feared this honest man's verdict.

But soon her old reckless self triumphed. “Of
course what I am doing will seem awful to him,”
she thought; “I knew that before I commenced.
He shall not preach me out of my fun in one half
hour. If I could make him love me in spite of what
I am, it would be the greater triumph. After all, I
am only acting as all the girls in my set do when
they get a chance. It's not as bad as he makes out.”

Still that was an eventful half hour, when they
looked out upon a transfigured world together; and
while she saw nature in her rarest and purest beauty,
she had also been given a glimpse into the more
beautiful world of truth, where God dwells.

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

But as the morning advanced, good impulses and
better feelings and thoughts vanished, even as the
snow-wreaths were dropping from branch and spray,
leaving them as bare and unsightly as before. By
the time the sleigh drove up to the door she was as
bent as ever upon victimizing the “Western giant,”
as the conspirators had named him. She was her
old, decided, resolute self; all the more resolute,
because facing, to her, a new hindrance—her own
conscience, which Hemstead had unwittingly awakened;
and it said to its uncomfortable possessor,
some rather severe things that day.

If Lottie were Bel Parton, she would have been
in a miserably undecided state. But it was her
nature to carry out what she had begun, if for no
other reason than that she had begun it, and she was
not one to give up a frolic at any one's scolding; not
even her own.

As she tripped down the broad stairs in a rich
cloak trimmed with fur, she reminded Hemstead
of some rare tropical bird, and De Forrest indulged
in many notes of admiration. Lottie received these
as a matter of course, but looked at the student with
genuine interest. His expression seemed to satisfy
her, for she turned away to hide a smile that meant
mischief.

It was quietly arranged that Hemstead should
sit beside her, and he felicitated himself over their
artifice as if it were rare good fortune.

Though the sun and the rising breeze had shaken
off the clustering snow to a great extent, the

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

evergreens still bent beneath their beautiful burdens,
some straight cedars reminding one of vigorous age,
where snowy hair and beard alone suggest the flight
of years.

Though the face of nature was so white, it was
not the face of death. There was a sense of movement
and life which was in accord with their own
spirits and rapid motion. Snow-birds fluttered and
twittered in weedy thickets by the way-side, break-fasting
on the seeds that fell like black specks upon
the snow. The bright sunlight had lured the fox-squirrels
from their moss-lined nests in hollow trees,
and their shrill bark was sometimes heard above the
chime of the bells.

“There goes a parson crow,” cried Addie Marchmont.
“How black and solemn he looks against the
snow!”

“Why are crows called parsons, Mr. Hemstead?”
asked Lottie, as a child might.

“Indeed, I don't know. For as good a reason, I
suppose, as that some girls are called witches.”

She gave him a quick keen look, and said, “I
hope you mean nothing personal.”

“I should never charge you with being a witch,
Miss Marsden, but I might with witchery.”

“A distinction without a difference,” she said,
seeking to lead him on.

“He means,” explained De Forrest, “that you
might be bewitching if you chose.”

“Hush, Julian, you leave no room for the imagination,”
said Lottie, frowningly.

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

“Look at that farm-yard, Miss Marsden,” said
Hemstead, “the occupants seem as glad that the
storm is over as we are. What pictures of placid
content these ruminating cows are under that sunny
shed. See the pranks of that colt which the boy is
trying to lead to water. I wish I were on his back,
with the prairie before me.”

“Indeed, are you so anxious to escape present
company?”

“Now I didn't say that. But we have passed by,
and I fear you did not see the pretty rural picture to
which I called your attention. Were I an artist I
would know where to make a sketch to-day.”

“I think you will find that Miss Marsden's taste
differs very widely from yours,” said De Forrest,
“that is, if you give us to understand that you would
seek your themes in a barn-yard, and set your easel
upon a muck-heap. Though your pictures might not
rank high they would still be very rank.”

Even Lottie joined slightly in the general and
not complimentary laugh at Hemstead which followed
this thrust, but he, with heightened color, said:

“You cannot criticise my picture, Mr. De Forrest,
for it does not exist. Therefore I must conclude
that your satire is directed against my choice of place
and subjects.”

“Yes, as with the offence of Denmark's king,
they `smell to heaven.'”

“I appeal to you, Miss Marsden, was not the
scent of hay and the breath of the cattle as we caught
them passing, sweet and wholesome?”

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

“I cannot deny that they were.”

“You have judicial fairness and shall be umpire
in this question. And now, Mr. De Forrest, there is
a celebrated and greatly admired picture in a certain
gallery, representing a scene from the Roman Saturnalia.
You do not object to that, with its classic accessories,
as a work of art?

“Not at all.”

“And yet it portrays a corruption that does in
truth `offend heaven.' Your muck-heap, which did
not enter into my thought at all, and would not have
been in my picture, could I paint one, would have
been wholesome in comparison. Have I made a
point, Judge Marsden?”

“I think you have.”

“Finally, Mr. De Forrest, what are we to do with
the fact that some of the greatest painters in the
world have employed their brushes upon just such
scenes as these, which perhaps offend your nose and
taste more than they do heaven, and pictures such as
that farm-yard would suggest, adorn the best galleries
of Europe?”

“What artists of note have painted barn-yard
scenes?” asked De Forrest, in some confusion.

“Well, there is Herring, the famous English
artist, for one.”

“`Herring' indeed. You are evidently telling a
fish story,” said De Forrest, contemptuously.

“No, he is not,” said Lottie. “Herring is a
famous painter, I am told, and we have some engravings
of his works.”

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

“And I have read somewhere,” continued Hemstead,
“that his painting of an English farm-yard is
the most celebrated of his works. Moreover, Judge
Marsden, I must ask of you another decision as to
the evidence in this case. I affirm that I did not
call your attention to the farm-yard itself, but to its
occupants. Is not that true?”

“I cannot deny that it is.”

“We all know that many eminent artists have
made the painting of animals a specialty, and among
them such world-renowned names as Landseer and
Rosa Bonheur. Moreover, in the numerous pictures
of the Nativity we often find the homely details of
the stable introduced. One of Rubens' paintings of
this sacred and favorite subject, which hangs in the
gallery of the Louvre, represents two oxen feeding
at a rack.”

“Come, Julian, hand over your sword. It won't
do for you or any one to sit in judgment on such
painters as Mr. Hemstead has named. You are
fairly beaten. I shall admire barn-yards in future,
through thick and thin.”

“That is hardly a fair conclusion from any testimony
of mine,” said Hemstead, “a barn-yard may
be all that Mr. De Forrest says of it, but I am sure
you will always find pleasure in seeing a fine frolicsome
horse or a group of patient cattle. The homely
accessories may and sometimes may not, add to the
picture.”

“How do you come to know so much about pictures?
Theology has nothing to do with art.”

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

“I dissent from Judge Marsden's decision now,
most emphatically,” replied Hemstead. “Is not
true art fidelity to nature?”

“Yes, so it is claimed.”

“And where does nature come from? God is
the Divine Artist, and is furnishing themes for all
other artists. God is the author of landscapes,
mountains, rivers, of scenes like that we saw this
morning, or of a fine face and a noble form, as truly
as of a chapter in the Bible. He manifests himself
in these things. Now, fine paintings, statuary, and
music, bring out the hidden meanings of nature, and
therefore more clearly God's thought. Theology, or
knowledge concerning our Creator, is a science to
which everything can minister, and surely the appreciation
of the beautiful should be learned in connection
with the Author of all beauty.”

“I never thought of God in that light before,”
said Lottie. “He has always seemed like one watching
to catch me at something wrong. Our solemn
old Sunday-school teacher used to say to us children
just before we went home, `Now during the week
whenever you are tempted to do anything wrong,
remember the text, “Thou, God, seest me.'” When
wasn't I tempted to do wrong? and I had for a long
time the uncomfortable feeling that two great eyes
were always staring at me. But this isn't sleigh-riding
chit-chat,” and she broke into a merry little
trill from a favorite opera.

Hemstead, with his strong love of the beautiful,
could not help watching her with deepening interest

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

The rapid motion, the music of the bells, the novel
scenery of the sun-lighted, glittering world around
her, and chief of all, her own abounding health and
animal life, combined to quicken her excitable
nature, into the keenest enjoyment. From her red
lips came ripples of laughter, trills from operas, sallies
of fun, that kept the entire party from the thought
of heaviness, and to honest-minded Hemstead, were
the evidences of a happy, innocent heart.

With secret exultation, she saw how rapidly and
unconsciously the unwary student was passing under
the spell of her beauty and witchery.

One must have been cursed with a sluggish, half-dead
body and a torpid soul, had he not responded
to the influences under which our gay party spent
the next few hours. Innumerable snow-flakes had
carried down from the air every particle of impurity,
and left it sweet and wholesome enough to seem the
elixir of immortal youth. It was so tempered also,
that it only braced and stimulated. The raw, pinching
coldness of the previous day was gone. The
sun, undimmed by a cloud, shone genially, and eaves
facing the south were dripping, the drops falling
like glittering gems.

Now and then a breeze would career down upon
them, and catching the light snow from the adjacent
fence, would cast it into their faces as a mischievous
school-boy might.”

“Stop that!” cried Lottie to one of these sportive
zephyrs. “Do you call that a gust of wind? I declare

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

it was a viewless sprite—or a party of snow elves,
playing their mad pranks upon us.”

“I prefer fairies less cold and ethereal,” said De
Forrest, with a meaning look at the speaker.

“What do you prefer, Mr. Hemstead?” she
asked. “But where we people of the world speak of
fairies, sprites, and nymphs, I suppose you permit
yourself to think only of angels.”

“Were it so,” he replied, “I should still be of the
same mind as Mr. De Forrest, and be glad that you
are not an angel.”

“Why so?”

“You might use your wings and leave us.”

“Were I one, I would not leave you after that
speech. But see how far I am from it. I weigh one
hundred and fifteen pounds.”

“I wish you were no farther off than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's not our weight in avoirdupois that drags us
down. But I am not going to preach any more to-day.
Listen to the bells—how they echo from the hill-side?”

“Yes, Julian,” listen to Bel, “said Lottie to De
Forrest, who was about to speak. “I'm talking to
Mr. Hemstead. See those snow crystals on my
muff. How can you account for so many odd and
beautiful shapes?”

“To me all the countless forms in nature,” said
Hemstead, “prove an infinite mind gratifying itself.
They are expressions of creative thought.”

“Nonsense! God doesn't bother with such little
things as these.”

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

“We do not know what seems small or great to
Him. The microscope reveals as much in one direction
as the telescope in another, and the common
house-fly, in size, seems midway in animal life.”

“And do you believe that the Divine hand is
employed in forming such trifles as these?”

“The Divine will is. But these trifles make the
avalanche and the winter's protection for next year's
harvest.”

“What is that?” asked Harcourt from the front
seat, where he was driving.

“Do you know,” cried Lottie, “that Mr. Hemstead
thinks that everything we see, even to nature's
smallest trifles, an `expression of the Divine creative
thought.'”

“Is that scene such an expression,” asked Harcourt,
with a sneering laugh, in which the others
joined.

By the road-side there was a small hovel, at the
door of which a half-fed, ill-conditioned pig was
squealing. When they were just opposite, a slatternly,
carroty-headed woman opened the door, and
raised her foot to drive the clamorous beast away.
Altogether, it was as squalid and repulsive a picture
as could well be imagined.

“Yes,” replied Lottie, looking into his face with
twinkling eyes, “was that sweet pastoral scene an
expression of creative thought?”

“The woman certainly was not,” he answered,
reddening. “A thought may be greatly perverted.”

“Whatever moral qualities may be asserted of

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

her manners, costume, and character,” said Harcourt,
“she is not to blame for the cast of her features and
the color of her hair. I scarcely know of an artist
who would express any such thought, unless he
wished to satirize humanity.”

“You can call up before you the portrait of some
beautiful woman, can you not, Mr. Harcourt?”

“Let me assist you,” cried De Forrest, pulling
from his inner pocket a photograph of Lottie.

“Hush, Julian. I'm sorry you do not appreciate
this grave argument more; I'll take that picture from
you, if you don't behave better.”

“Well, I have a picture before me now, that satisfies
me fully,” said Mr. Harcourt, turning to Lottie
with a smiling bow.

“Now, suppose that you had painted just such a
likeness and finished it. Suppose I should come
afterwards, and without destroying your picture
utterly, should blend with those features there, the
forbidding aspect of the woman we have just seen,
would you not say that your thought was greatly
perverted?”

“I should think I would.”

“Well, Mother Eve was the true expression of
the Divine Artist's creative thought, and the woman
we saw was the perversion of it. You can trace no
evil thing to the source of all good. Perfection is
not the author of imperfection.”

“Who does the perverting, then?” asked Lottie.

“Evil.”

“I don't think it fair that one face and form

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

should be perverted into hideousness, and another
left with something of the first perfection.”

“Evil is never fair, Miss Marsden.”

“But is it only evil? I have heard plain children
told when resenting their ugliness that it was wicked,
for they were just as God made them.”

“Can you think of a better way to make a young
girl hate God than to tell her that?”

“But suppose it's true.”

“I am sure it is not. Just the opposite is true.
The ugly and deformed are as evil has marred them,
and not as God has made them. By seeking the
Divine Artist's aid more than the humanity's first
perfection can be regained. It is possible for even
that wretched creature we saw to attain an outward
loveliness exceeding that of any woman now living.”

“That passes beyond the limit of my imagination,”
said Harcourt.

“Absurd!” muttered De Forrest.

“I fear you are not orthodox,” said Bel.

“That means you do not agree with me. But
please do not think that because I am a minister you
must talk upon subjects that are rather grave and
deep for a sleighing party.”

“That's right, Cousin Frank,” said Addie. “Dr
Beams will want you to preach for him next Sunday
I advise you to reserve your thunder till that occasion,
when you may come out as strong as you please.”

“`Chinese thunder' at best,” whispered Harcourt
to Addie; but all heard him.

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

Hemstead bit his lip and said nothing, but Lottie
spoke up quickly:

“No matter about the `thunder,' Mr. Harcourt.
That is only noise under any circumstances. But
suppose there is the lightning of truth in what Mr.
Hemstead says?”

“And suppose there is not?” he replied, with a
shrug.

Hemstead gave Lottie a quick, pleased look, which
Bel and De Forrest smilingly noted, and the conversation
changed to lighter topics.

As they were passing through a small hamlet
some miles back from the river, a bare-headed man
came running out from a country store and beckoned
them to stop, saying:

“We're going to give our Dominie a donation
party to night. Perhaps Mrs. Marchmont will do
somfin for us, or likely you'll all like to drive over
and help the young folks enjoy themselves.”

“Capital!” cried Lottie; “I've always wanted to
attend a country donation. Do you think we can
come, Addie?”

“Oh, certainly, if you wish, but I fear you won't
enjoy it. You will not meet any of our `set' there.”

“I don't wish to meet them. I want to meet the
other `set' and have a frolic.”

“It will be moonlight, and we will have the drive,
which will be the best part of it you will find,” said
Harcourt. “Yes, we will come.”

“Them folks thinks that they's made of different
flesh and blood from the other `set' as they call us,

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

and that pretty young woman wants to come as she
would go to a menagerie,” muttered the man as he
went back to the store. “No matter, let 'em come,
they will help us make up the salary.”

“Of course, Mr. Hemstead, you will enter upon
this expedition with great zeal, as it will be to the
advantage of one of your fraternity.”

“I think, with Mr. Harcourt, that the ride will
be the best part of it.”

“Oh, for shame! Can it be true that two of even
your trade can never agree?”

“Long ages of controversy prove that,” said Harcourt.

“I think your profession has done more to keep
the world in hot water than ours, Mr. Harcourt.”

“We at least agree among ourselves.”

“All the worse, perhaps, for the world.”

“That's rather severe if you refer to the proverb
`When rogues fall out, honest men get their dues,'”
said Lottie.

“I supposed we were talking in jest, I was.”

“You evidently belong to the church militant,
since you strike back so hard even in jest,” said Harcourt.
“Very well, since you are so able to take care
of yourself I shall have no compunctions in regard to
your fate.”

Hemstead did not understand this remark, but
the others did, and significant glances were exchanged.
He turned inquiringly to Lottie, feeling that in a
certain sense he had an ally in her, but she seemed
looking away abstractedly as if she had not heeded

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

the remark. She was too quick to be caught easily
and the conviction grew upon him that while the
others from his calling and difference in views and
tastes had a natural aversion, she was inclined to be
friendly. What was better still, he believed her
mind was unprejudiced and open to the truth, if he
could get chances to present it to her. And yet she
puzzled him not a little at times, as now for instance,
when she turned and said:

“I suppose there are a great many nice young
men at your seminary.”

“I never heard them called `nice young men,'”
he replied, looking at her keenly.

“Oh, I beg your pardon—good, pious, devotional
young men, I mean.”

“All ought to be that; do you not think so?”

“Well, yes, I think so, since they are to become
ministers.”

“But not otherwise?”

“I didn't say that. There's a hint for you,
Julian.”

De Forrest's reply was a contemptuous shrug and
laugh. It would be anything but agreeable to him
to be thought “good, pious, and devotional”—equalities
not in demand at his club, nor insisted on by
Lottie, and entirely repugnant to his tastes.

“Do they all intend to be missionaries as well as
yourself?” she continued.

“Oh no, some no doubt will take city churches,
and marry wealthy wives.”

“Would that be wrong?”

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

“I am not the judge. It's a matter of taste and
conscience.”

“Would you not marry a lady of wealth?”

“I would marry the woman I loved—that is, if I
could get her.”

“Well added,” said De Forrest.

“Yes, sir, I agree with you. Every man had better
add that.”

“Indeed they had,” said Lottie, with a mischievous
twinkle in her eyes.

“There is always a chance for a man who will
never take `no' for an answer,” said De Forrest with
a light laugh, but with a significant glance at Lottie.

“Do you think so?” she said, lifting her eye-brows
questioningly. “I agree with Mr. Hemstead
It's a matter of taste and conscience.”

“Do you intend to be a missionary, Mr. Hem
stead?” asked Bel Parton.

“I hope so,” he replied, quietly.

“Yes,” said Lottie, “just think of it. He is going
away out to the jumping-off place at the West, where
he will have the border ruffians on one side and the
scalping Indians on the other. You said you would
marry the woman you loved, if you could. Do you
think any real nice girl would go with you to such a
horrible place?”

“I'm sure I don't know. If the one I want won't
venture, I can go alone.”

“Do you think she'll go?” asked Lottie so innocently
that the others had no slight task in controlling
their faces.”

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

“Who will go?” said Hemstead quickly.

“The one whom you said you wanted to?”

“Now I'm sure I did not mention any one,” said
Hemstead, blushing and laughing.

“Well, you did not exactly speak her name.”

“No, I should think not, since I don't know it
myself.”

“How provoking?” pouted Lottie. “I thought
we were going to have a nice little romance.”

“It's a pity I've nothing to tell, in view of my
sympathizing audience,” he replied, with a glance at
the gigglers on the other seats.

“But I have been told,” said Lottie, “that in
emergencies, committees have been appointed to
select wives for missionaries, and that there are
excellent women who are willing to sacrifice them
selves for the sake of the cause.”

An explosion of laughter followed these words,
but she looked at the others in innocent surprise.

“That's a funny speech for you to make so
gravely,” said Hemstead. “I fear you are quizzing
me. Your missionary lore certainly exceeds mine in
regard to the `committees.' But there will be no
emergency in my case, and I should be sorry to have
any woman, excellent or otherwise, sacrifice herself
for me.”

“I have certainly heard so,” said Lottie, positively.

“I fear you have heard more to the prejudice of
missionaries and their works, than aught in their
favor,” he said somewhat gravely.

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

“But I am willing to hear the other side,” she
whispered in his ear.

“Now I protest against that,” said De Forrest.

“I'll give you the privilege of whispering to Bel,”
said Lottie, sweetly.

“Oh, thank you,” replied De Forrest with a
shrug.

“You can also help me out,” she continued, as
the sleigh stopped at Mrs. Marchmont's door.

As he did so he whispered in her ear, “Capital,
Lottie, you are a star actress, and always my bright
particular star.”

“Don't be sentimental, Julian,” was her only
response.

At this moment, Lottie's brother Dan fired a
snow-ball that carried off Mr. Hemstead's hat; at
which all laughed, and expected to see the young
theologian assume a look of offended dignity. He
disappointed them by good-naturedly springing out
after his hat, and was soon romping with the boy and
Mrs. Marchmont's two younger children. This was
too tempting to Lottie, who joined the frolic at once.

Hemstead laughingly allowed himself to be their
victim, and skilfully threw great snow-balls so as just
to miss them, while they pelted him till he was
white, and, as if utterly defeated, he led them a
breathless chase up and down the broad path. Their
cries and laughter brought half the household to the
doors and windows to watch the sport.

De Forrest ventured down from the piazza with
the thought that he could throw a spiteful ball or

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

two at one he already disliked a little, as well as despised.
But Hemstead immediately showed what a
self-sacrificing victim he was to Lottie and the children
by almost demolishing De Forrest with a huge
snow-ball that stung his ear sharply, got down his
neck, spoiling his collar, and necessitating such a
toilet that he was late for dinner.

His plight took Lottie out of the field also, for
she sank on the lower step of the piazza, her hand
upon her side, helpless with laughter.

Hemstead retreated to a side door, where he
shook himself as a polar bear might, and escaped to
his room