One might have heard, sweeping the soft and silken curtains of its oblivion, the rough rush of a disturbing wind! Dan Anderson's back was in shame turned to me as he gazed down the valley.

"Friend," said he, "I swore never to think of her once more.
Of course, the old ways had to end.

Her people wouldn't have it.

She told me she could not be happy with a dreamer; that it was no time for dreamers; that the world was run by workers.

She told me--well, I came West, and after a while a little farther West.
"I hadn't begun, I know that.