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Show THE BRANDING IRON perlences, snd Jonn sat in her place, the books In her lap, looking and listening. lis-tening. John Carver had used a phrase, "When you see her eyes lookln' an' lookin at another man" and this phrase had stuck In Pierre's sensitive and jealous memory. What Joan felt for Holllwell was a sort of Ignorant and respectful tenderness, the excitement excite-ment of an Intelligent child first moved to a knowledge of Its own Intelligence ; j the gratitude of savage loneliness toward the beautiful feet of explora-1 Hon. A consciousness of her clean mind, a consciousness of her young, untamed spirit, had come slowly to life In her since hef talk with Holllwell. Joan was peculiarly a woman that Is, the passive and receptive being. Pierre had laid his hand on her heart and Bhe had followed him; now this young parson had put a curious finger on her brain, it followed him. Her husband saw the admiration, the gratitude, grati-tude, the tender excitement in her frank eyes, and the poison seed sown by John Corver's hand shot out roots and tiny, deadly branches. But Joan and Holllwell were unaware. un-aware. Pierre smoked rapidly, rolling cigarette after cigarette; lie listened with a courteous air, he told stories In his soft, slow voice; once he went out to bring in a fresh log and, coming com-ing back on noiseless feet, saw Joan and her Instructor bent over one of the books and Joan's face was almost thnt of a stranger, so eager, so flushed, with sparkles In the usually still gray eyes. It was not till a week or two after this second visit from the clergyman that Pierre's smoldering Jealousy broke Into flame. After clearing away the supper things with an absent ab-sent air of eager expectation, Joan would dry her hands on her apron, and, taking down one of lief books from their place In a shelf corner, she By Katharine Newlin Burt (Copyright by Ksthsrin N. Burt that has got to be like they are" Joan was talking a great deal and having trouble with her few simple words "but I like folks In stories to look like I want 'era to look." "Not the way the writer describes thera?? "Ye, sir. But you can make up a whole lot on what the writer describes. If he says 'her eyes Is blue,' you can see 'era dark blue or light blue or Jest blue. An1 you can see 'em shaped round or what not the way you think about folks that you've heard of an' have never met" It was extraordinary how this effort 'at self-expression excited Joan. She was rarely self-conscious, but she was usually passive or stolid ; now there was a brilliant flush In ber face and her large eyes deepened and glowed. "I heerd tell of you, Mr. Holllwell. Fellers come up here to see Tlerre onct In a while an' one or two of 'em spoke your name. An I kinder figured out you was a weedy feller, awful solemn-like, an' of course you ain't, but It's real hard for me to notion that there ain't two Mr. Holllwells, you an' the weedy sin-buster I've ben plcturln'. Like as not I'll get to thlnkln' of you like two fellers." Joan sighed. "Seems like when f onct get a notion In my head It Jest sticks there some way." "Then the more wise notions you get the better. I'll ride up here In a couple of weeks time with some books. Tou may keep them as long ' as you will. All winter, if you like. When I can get up here, we cen talk them over, you and Landls and I. I'll try to choose some 'without pictures. There will be stories and some poetry, too." "I ain't never read but one pome," said Joan. "And that wasr She sat down on the floor by the hearth, her head thrown back to lean against the cobbles of the chimney-piece, chimney-piece, her knees locked In her hands. That magnificent long throat of hers ran up to the black colls of hair which had slipped heavily down over her ears. The light edged her round chin and her strongly modeled, regular features fea-tures ; the full, firm mouth so savagely pure and sensuous and self-contained. The eyes were mysterious under their SYNOPSIS ' 'oan Lan51. eig-htee years old. wife of Pierre. t. the daughter daugh-ter of John Carver, who murdered mur-dered her mother for adultery. Her lonely life, wlth her father, in a yomlng cabin, unbearable. Joan leaves him to work la a Hotel In a nearby town. Joan meets Pierre, and the two. mutually mutu-ally s.ttracted. are married. CHAPTER IV 3 The Sln.fiuster. In the fall, when the whole country had turned to a great cup of gold, purple-rimmed under the sky, Tierre went out into the hills after his winter win-ter meat. Joan was left alone. She spent her time cleaning and arranging the two-room cabin and tidying up outdoors, and in "grubbing sagebrush," a gigantic task, for the one hundred and fifty acres of Flerre's homestead were covered for the most part by the sturdy, spicy growth, and every bush had to be dug out and burnt to clear the way for plowing and planting. Joan worked with the dellberateness and Intentness of a man. She enjoyed the wholesome drudgery. She was proud every sundown of the little clearing she had made, and stood, tired and content, to watcb. the piled brush burn, sending up aromatic smoke1 and curious, dull flames very high Into the still air. She was so standing, hands folded on her rake, when, on the other side of her conflagration, she perceived a man. He was steadily regarding her, and when her eyes fell upon htm. he smiled and stepped forward a tall, broad, very fair young man in a shooting shoot-ing coat, khaki riding-breeches and puttees. He had a wide brow, clear blue eyes and an eager, sensitive, clean-shaven mouth and chin. He held out a big white hand. "Mrs. Landls," he said. In a crisp voice of an accent and finish strange to the girl, "I wonder if you and your husband can put me up for the night. I'm Prank Holllwell. I'm on a round of parish visits, and, as my parish Is about sixty miles square my poor old pony has gone lame. I know you are not my parishioners, though, no doubt, you should be, but I'm going to lay claim to your hospitality, for all that. If I may?" Joan had moved her rake Into the grasp of her left hand and had taken the proffered palm Into her other, all warm and fragrantly stained. "Tou're the new sln-buster, ain't you?" she asked gravely. The young man opened his blue and friendly eyes. "Oh, that's what I am. eh? That's a new one to me. Yes. I suppose I am. It's rather a fine name to go by sin-buster," and he laughed very low and very amusedly. Joan looked him over and slowly smiled. "You look like you could bust anything you'd a mind to," she said, and led the way toward the house, her rake across her shoulder. "Pierre," she told hlra when they were In the shining, clean log house, "Is off In the hills after his elk, but I can mHke you up a bed in the slttln-room slttln-room an' serve you a supper an' welcome." wel-come." "Oh, thanks," he rather doubtfully accepted. Evidently he did not know the ways snd proprieties of this new "parish" of his. But Joan seemed to take the situation with an enormous, calm Impersonality. Im-personality. He modeled his manner upon hers. They snt at the tnble together, to-gether, Joan silent, save when he forced her to speak, and entirely untroubled un-troubled by her silence, Frank Holllwell, Holll-well, eating heartily, helping her serve would draw her chair close to the lamp and begin to read, forgetful of Pierre. These had been the happiest hours for him; he would tell Joan about his day's work, about his plans, about his past life; wonderful It was to him, after his loneliness, that she should be sitting there drinking In every word snd loving him with her dumb, wild eyes. Now, there was no talk and no listening. Joan's absorbed face was turned from him snd bent over her book, her Hps moved, she would stop and stare before her. After a long while he would get up and got to bed, but she wouia stay with her books till a restless movement move-ment from him would make her aware of the lamplight shining wakefulness upon him through the chinks In the partition wall. Then she would get up reluctantly, sighing, and come to bed. For ten evenings this went on, Pierre's heart slowly heating Itself, until, all at once, the flame leaped. .Tnnn hail nntlpd hp unrnn end reached up for her book. Pierre hnd been waiting, hoping that of her free will she might prefer his company to the "parson feller's" for In his Ignorance Igno-rance those books were Jealousy personified per-sonified but, without a glance In his direction, she had turned as usun) to the shelf. "You goln' to rend?" asked Pierre hoarsely. It was a painful effort to speak. " She turned with a childish look of astonishment. "Yes, Pierre." , He stood up with one of his lithe, swift movements, all In one rippling piece. "By O d, you're not, though !" said he, strode over to her. snatched the volume from her, threw It back Into Its place and pointed her to her chair. "You set down an give heed to me fer a change, Joan Carvr," he said, his smoke-colored eyes smoldering. "I didn't fetch you up here to read parsons' par-sons' books an' waste oil. I fetched you up here to " He stopped, choked with a sudden, enormous hurt tenderness and sat down and fell ro smoking and staring, hot-eyed, Into the Are. And Joan sat sliest In her place, puzzled, wistful, wounded, her Idle hands folded, looking at him for a while, then absently before her, and he knew that her mind was busy again with the preacher feller's books. If he had known better how to explain his heart, If she had known how to show him the Impersonal eagerness of her awakening mind 1 But, savage and silent, they sat there, loving each other, hurt, but locked each Into his own Impenetrable life. After that Joan changed the hours of her study and neglected housework and sagebrush-grubbing, but nonetlie less were Pierre's evenings spoiled. When he tnlked he could not escape the r-onsclousness of having constrained con-strained his audience; she could not escape her knowledge of his Jealousy, the remembrance of his mysterious outbreak, the irrepressible tug of the story she was rending. So it went on till snow came and they were shut In, man and wife, with only each other to watch, a tremendous test of good fellowship. This searching Intimnc) came at a bad time. Just after Hold-well's Hold-well's third visit, when lie had brouglit a fresh supply of books. (TO HE CONTINUED.) "I Didn't Fetch You Up Hers to Read Parsons' Books an' Waste Oil." thick lushes and dark, long brows. This throat and face and there strong hands were picked out In their full value of line and texture from the dark cotton dress she was wearing. "It's s pome on a card what father bad, stuck ag'In' the wall." She began to recite, her eyes fixed upon him with childlike gravity. "'He maketh me to lie down In green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still woters. . . . Yea, though I walk through the valley of shadows. Thou art with me, Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.'" Holllwell had taken the pipe from between his teeth, had straightened up. Her dfop voice, the slight swinging swing-ing of her body to the rhythm she had unconsciously given to her lines, the strange glow In her eyes , . . Ho-lleell Ho-lleell wondered why these thlnjrs, this brief, sing-song recitation, had given a Heht thrill to the surface of his skin, had sent a finding to his flocer-tlps. He wns the first person to wonder at thnt effect of Joan's cadenced music. "The vnlley of the shadow" she hnd missed a fnmlllar phrsse snd added value to a too often repented line. "Jonn! .Torn!" snld the "sln-buster," an exclnmntlnn drawn from him on t deep breath, "what nn extraordinary K!rl you are! Whnt n marvelous womnn you nre going to be!" Jonn looked at him In n sllenre of pure astonishment nnd thnt was the end of their real tnlk, CHAPTER V Pierre Deeomc- Alarmed About His Property. The next time llol.lwell dime he lironr:1if the books, nnd. flndlnz Pierre nt home, he snt v!th his host after supppr nnd talked men's tnlk of the country; of game, of ranIilnj: a little gnsmlp, stories of travel, b'tirorouc and talking a great deal. By the end of dlsh-washlng he had her history and more of her opinions, probably, than any other creature she had met. "What do yon do when Landls is away?" She told him. "But In the evenings, I mean, after work. Have you books?" "No," said Jonn; "it's right hard labor, readln'. Pa learned me my letters let-ters an' I can spell out bits from papers pa-pers an' advertisements an' what not, but I ain't never read a book straight out. I dunno," she added presently, "hut as I'd like to. Pierre can read," she told him proudly, "I'm sure you'd like to." lie considered con-sidered her through the smoke of his pipe. He was sitting by the hearth now, and she, Just through with clearing clear-ing up, stood by the corner of the mantel shelf, arranging the logs. The firelight danced over her face, so beautiful, so nnllghted from within. "How old are yon, Jonn Landls?" he asked suddenly, using her nnme without with-out title for the first time. "Eighteen." "Is that all? Yon must read hook, yon know. There's so much empty space there hack of your brows." She looked up smiting a little, her wide gray eyes puzzled. "Yes. Jonn. You must rend. Vlll you If I lend yoti some books." She considered. "Yes," she sold, "I'd read them If you'd be lendln me onie. In the evenings when Pierre's awny, I'm rlplit lonesome. I never ivns lonesome before, not to know It. It'll dike tne n long time to rend one hook, tho'vh " slip added with nn en-Tncliiir en-Tncliiir mnnrnfiilnes. "Whnt r'o yon like stories, poetry, "I'd II' e rMil honks In stiff covers," m ,wn. "an' I don't like pictures." ic, t!i".r'sr-d the clergyman. "Why '-" !! ho. ' ',;,. to notion how the folks look t !", pictures of real places, |
