hill. You forgot that if you could see him he could see
you looking too, and that would only make him conceited. And a girl with
YOUR attractions don't require that."

"Ez if," said Melinda, with lofty but somewhat reddening scorn, "there
was a man on this hull rancho that I'd take a second look at."

"It's the first look that does the business," returned Jack simply. "But
maybe I was wrong. Would you mind--as you're going straight back to
the house" (Miss Melinda had certainly expressed no such
intention)--"turning those two little kids loose out here? I've a sort
of engagement with them."

"I will speak to their mar," said Melinda primly, yet with a certain
sign of relenting, as she turned away.

"You can say to her that I regretted not finding her in the sitting room
when I came down," continued Jack tactfully.

Apparently the tact was successful, for he was delighted a few moments
later by the joyous onset of John Wesley and Mary Emmeline upon the
buckeyes, which he at once converted into a game of hide and seek,
permitting himself at last to be shamelessly caught in the open.
But here he wisely resolved upon guarding against further grown-up
interruption, and consulting with his companions found that on one
of the lower terraces there was a large reservoir fed by a mountain
rivulet, but they were not allowed to play there. Thither, however, the
reckless Jack hied with his playmates and was presently ensconced under
a willow tree, where he dexterously fashioned tiny willow canoes with
his penknife and sent them sailing over a submerged expanse of nearly
an acre. But half an hour of this ingenious amusement was brought to an
abrupt termination. While cutting bark, with his back momentarily turned
on his companions, he heard a scream, and turned quickly to see
John Wesley struggling in the water, grasping a tree root, and Mary
Emmeline--nowhere! In another minute he saw the strings of her pinafore
appear on the surface a few yards beyond, and in yet another minute,
with a swift rueful glance at his white flannels, he had plunged after
her. A disagreeable shock of finding himself out of his depths was,
however, followed by contact with the child's clothing, and clutching
her firmly, a stroke or two brought him panting to the bank. Here
a gasp, a gurgle, and then a roar from Mary Emmeline, followed by a
sympathetic howl from John Wesley, satisfied him that the danger was
over. Rescuing the boy from the tree root, h