After the supper dishes were washed, and Amos was attending to the chickens, Lydia came slowly out to the front steps where Levine was sitting. He reached up and catching her hand pulled her down beside him on the topmost step. She leaned her head against his arm and they sat in silence, Lydia with her eyes on the dim outline of the pine by the gate.
"Lydia," said John, finally, "how does the Great Search go on? We haven't reported for a long time."
"I don't think I make much headway," replied Lydia. "The older I grow, the less I understand men and I've always felt as if, if there was a God, He was a man."
"You mean male, rather than female," agreed John.
"Lydia, dear, I wish you did have faith."
"But do you believe, yourself?" urged Lydia.
"Yes, I know that the soul can't die," said the man, quietly. "And the thing that makes me surest is the feeling I have for you, I know that I'll have another chance."
"What do you mean?" asked Lydia wonderingly.
"That, you'll never know," he replied.
"Well, I know that you're a dear," said the young girl, unexpectedly, "no matter how you get your Indian lands. And I love you to death."