“I should smile I will,” declared Joe.
“But I can run right up the walls.”
“I reckon. Mary, it wouldn't surprise me to see you fly.”
“Do you mean I'm like a canyon swallow or an angel?”
Then, as Joe stared speechlessly, she said good-by and, taking up the bucket, went on with her swift, graceful step.
“She's perked up,” said the Mormon, staring after her. “Never heard her say more 'n yes or no till now.”
“She did seem—bright,” replied Shefford.
He was stunned. What had happened to her? To-day this girl had not been Mary, the sealed wife, or the Sago Lily, alien among Mormon women. Then it flashed upon him—she was Fay Larkin. She who had regarded herself as dead had come back to life. In one short night what had transformed her—what had taken place in her heart? Shefford dared not accept, nor allow lodgment in his mind, a thrilling idea that he had made her forget her misery.
“Shefford, did you ever see her like that?” asked Joe.
“Never.”