"How does one believe in beauty?" asked Mr. Fowler.
"I mean," she replied, "that if you fill your mind with the beauty of this Lost Chief country and with poetry, there is no room for anything ugly."
"What would you call ugly?"
"Being mean to other people is one kind of ugliness."
"That's what I believe too," said Judith suddenly.
"Then, of course, neither of you two would have anything to do with the attempt to run the preacher out," suggested Douglas.
"No, I wouldn't," replied Inez; "and I told Scott so. That doesn't mean that I don't consider you plumb loco, Doug. Mr. Fowler isn't the kind to make the folks see the beauty of these hills. If he was I'd be helping instead of indifferent."
"If the folks would let God enter their hearts," cried the preacher, "they'd see beauty in these hills they never dreamed of."
"Well, as far as beauty goes, Inez," Douglas spoke thoughtfully, "you can't say there isn't considerable of that in the Bible. Take the Songs of Solomon. There never was finer love-making than that!"
"The Songs of Solomon don't deal with human passion," said Mr. Fowler hastily. "They are a recital of man's love for the Almighty and His works."
"O, no, Mr. Fowler!" cried Doug. "'Behold thou art fair, my loved one, behold thou art fair. Thou hast doves eyes within thy locks.' No man ever said that about anything but a woman."
No one spoke for a moment. Old Prince, who was lying with his head baking under the stove, growled and barked, then made for the door. Wolf Cub barked without, and a dog answered.
"Sister!" exclaimed Inez. "Peter must be coming."
