n you had better get some sleep."

During the afternoon, George set off for home, and he was plowing for
the summer fallow a week later when Flora Grant rode up to him.

"I suppose you have got your mail and have seen what the _Sentinel_
says about you?" she asked mischievously.

George looked uncomfortable, but he laughed.

"Yes," he confessed. "It seemed to afford Edgar some amusement."

"Who's responsible for that flattering column? It doesn't read like
the work of the regular staff."

"I'm afraid that I am, to some extent, though Hardie's the actual
culprit. The fact is, he thought the course was necessary."

"Well, I suspected something of the kind; so did my father. It was a
wise move, and I think it will have its effect."

George made no comment and she sat silent a moment or two while he
watched her with appreciation. She was well-mounted on a beautiful,
carefully-groomed horse; the simple skirt and bodice of pale gray
emphasized the pure tinting of her face and hands and the warm glow of
her hair, in which the fierce sunshine forced up strong coppery gleams.
Her lips formed a patch of crimson, there was a red band on her wide
Stetson hat, and her eyes shone a deep blue as she looked down at
George, who stood in the sandy furrow leaning against the heavy plow.
He was dressed in old overalls that had faded with dust and sun to the
indefinite color of the soil, but they displayed the fine lines of a
firmly knit and muscular figure. His face was deeply bronzed, but a
glow of sanguine red shone through its duskier coloring. Behind them
both ran a broad sweep of stubble, steeped in strong ochre, relieved by
brighter lemon hues where the light blazed on it.

"Though I couldn't resist the temptation to tease you, I quite agree
with the _Sentinel_," she resumed. "It really was a very gallant
rescue, and I suppose you know I recognize my debt to you. I was a
little too startled to speak about it when you brought my father home,
and you went away so fast."

"The fellows were afraid of being identified; they bolted as soon as
they saw me."

"One didn't," Flora pointed out. "A knife-thrust, like the one you
avoided, or a pistol-shot would have obviated any risk they ran. But
of course you hate to be thanked."

"No," George replied impulsively; "not by you."

"I wonder," she said with an amused air, "why you should make an
exception of me?"

"I suppose it lessens my sense of obligation. I feel I'