n't be afraid. They look pretty tame," Jernyngham rejoined, and
going on to the door, shook hands with Prescott.

"Tell Colston he has my last word," he said.

Turning away, he proceeded to the untidy parlor where he found Ellice
dawdling over a paper. Her white summer dress was stained in places and
open at the neck, where a button had come off. The short skirt displayed
a hole in one stocking and a shoe from which a strap had been torn.
Jernyngham leaned on the table regarding her with a curious smile.

"What's Jack come about?" she asked.

"To say my fastidious relatives want me to go home, which would mean
leaving you behind."

She looked at him searchingly, and then laughed.

"And you won't go?"

"That's the message I sent."

Ellice's face softened, though there was a hint of indecision in it.

"You're all right, Cyril, only a bit of a fool."

"A bit?" he said dryly. "I'm the whole blamed hog. But enough of that.
We'll pull out for the homestead to-morrow. I expect Wandle is robbing
me."

"He's been robbin' you ever since you bought the ranch. I don't know why
you stopped me from gettin' after him."

"He saves me trouble," explained Jernyngham, and they discussed the
arrangements for their return.

Prescott, arriving home, had a brief private interview with Colston, who
realized with some disappointment that his errand had failed. Then the
rancher harnessed a fresh team and proceeded to a sloo where his
Scandinavian hired man was cutting prairie hay. An hour or two later
Muriel went out on the prairie and walked toward a poplar bluff, in the
shadow of which she gathered ripe red saskatoons, and then sat down to
look about.

The dazzling blue of the sky was broken by rounded masses of silver-edged
clouds that drove along before a fresh northwest breeze. Streaked by
their speeding shadows, the great plain stretched away, checkered by
ranks of marigolds and tall crimson flowers of the lily kind that swayed
as the rippling grasses changed color in the wind. A mile or two distant
stood the trim wooden homestead, with a tall windmill frame near by, girt
by broad sweeps of dark-green wheat and oats. These were interspersed
with stretches of uncovered soil, glowing a deep chocolate-brown, which
Muriel knew was the summer fallow resting after a cereal crop. Beyond the
last strip of rich color, there spread, shining delicately blue, a great
field of flax; and then the dusky green of alfalfa and alsike for th