"Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being
alone"--_James 2:17._
Chamogo Valley lies on the edge of the great arid region of America. At
the time of Rupert Ames' arrival in the valley, full crops were never
certain, and during some years, rain was so scarce that there were no
crops at all. The Chicago real estate dealer who had sold Mr. Janson his
land had not enlightened him on this fact, and so he had already lost
the best part of two years' work by failure of crops. Rupert Ames
learned of all this from Mr. Janson, and then he wondered why advantage
was not taken of the stream in the bottom of the valley for irrigation
purposes.
One day--it was near the end of the harvest, and they were pitting their
last potatoes--Rupert asked Mr. Janson if the adjoining lands could be
bought.
"Why, yes," was the reply. "I was offered nearly the whole valley for a
small sum, but I have all the land I care to handle. You see, this
region would be different if we could rely on the moisture, but we
can't, and I am nearly tired of it myself. Do you want to buy me out?"
This with a laugh.
"Can you raise money enough to buy this whole valley?" asked Rupert
seriously.
"Yes; I could get it."
"Then I am going to propose something to you."
Whereupon Rupert pointed out that the rich bench lands on each side of
the river could be brought under cultivation, and crops secured every
year by bringing the water from the stream in canals, and watering, or
irrigating them. Mr. Janson listened with wonder at Rupert's description
of Dry-bench reservoir, and how simple it would be to construct canals
by which to water Chamogo valley.
"This valley can be made to support a good-sized population," said
Rupert. "By securing the land and digging canals to it, and then
selling it out in farms again--well, if you don't make a hundred per
cent on your investment, I am mistaken."
They had many talks on the scheme, and at last it was decided to try it.
Rupert would supervise the construction of the canals. He would remain
during the winter, do what work could be done before the snow came, and
then continue the work in the spring.
The land was secured at a small outlay. The canal was surveyed and a
little digging was done that fall. When the snow came, Rupert rode
twenty-one miles to the county seat, took the teachers' examination,
received a certificate, and obtained the Chamogo district school for the
winter. It was a new experience for him, and a trying one at first. The
big boys came to school to get out of the storm, and incidentally, to
learn something of the three R's. They were often wild, but Rupert
managed them without doing any "licking," the usual mode of discipline.
He now wrote to his sister Nina, and told her that he was located for
the winter; that he expected to get back to Willowby, but not for a
time.
So the winter months passed. Rupert studied his own lessons when he was
not preparing for his day's work. He made frequent visits to the
Jansons, though it was a good three miles' drive. He was always received
as a friend, and, indeed, was treated as one of the family.
Was it strange that a tie should grow between Rupert Ames and Signe
Dahl? Was it anything out of the way that Rupert's trips became more
frequent, and that the fair-haired Norwegian looked longingly down the
road for the school-master's horse?
Rupert did not try to deceive himself. It had been a year only since his
experience with Virginia Wilton. He had thought that he never would get
over that, but even now he could look back on it with indifference, yes,
even with thankfulness. This love which seemed to be coming to him was
different from that first experience. He could not explain this
difference, but he knew that it existed. Rupert had no misgivings. Signe
did not thrill him, did not hold him spell-bound with her presence. No;
it was only a calm, sweet assurance that she was a good girl, that he
loved her, and that she thought well of him. Their conversations were
mostly on serious, but deeply interesting subjects. Signe, in common
with her cousin and Mr. Janson, had religious views of her own, which
were peculiar, at least to Rupert. Nothing more than the common
doctrines of the Christian denominations had Rupert ever heard. Signe
knew her Bible well, and she could find wonderful things within its
lids, teachings which were new to Rupert, but which opened to him a
future, a bright, glorious future, full of possibilities. Besides, they
explained to him many of the mysteries of life and answered many of its
hard questions.
Thus one evening--it was Friday, and he lingered longer on that
evening--Mr. and Mrs. Janson were visiting neighbors, and Rupert and
Signe were alone. They sat by the kitchen stove, and the blazing pine
wood made a lamp unnecessary. Signe had received a letter from home
which she had translated to Rupert. Her father had long since forgiven
her. The few dollars she sent home now and then multiplied to quite a
few _kroner_ by the time they reached Norway, and they helped the
struggling family. After old country topics had been exhausted, the
conversation had drifted to religious themes, and especially to the
doctrine expressed in the song "O my Father;" but they now sat silently
looking into the fire. Their chairs were not far apart, and it was an
easy matter for Rupert to lay his hand over Signe's fingers that rested
on the arm of her chair and draw them closely into his big palm.
"Signe," he said, "if we ever lived as intelligent beings in a
pre-existent state--and I now can not doubt it,--we two knew each other
there. Perhaps we were the closest friends, and I have just been letting
my imagination run wild in contemplating the possibilities."
"Let me tell you someting--thing. Did I get tha-at right?"
"You get the th as well as I, and the w's trouble you no more."
"Only sometimes I forget, I was going to say, you remember the first
night you came here?"
"I certainly do;" and he pressed her fingers a little closer.
"Well, I seemed to know you from the first. Though you looked bad and
like a tramp, I knew you were not, and I felt as if I had known you
before."