en singin' an' whistlin' an' grinnin' to
himself all the time. He went out to the corral just now as merry as a
lark."

Phil laughed. "Anybody would be glad to get through with that rodeo,
mother; besides, he is going to town to-morrow."

"He is? Well, you mark my words, son, there's somethin' up to make him
feel as good as he does."

And then, when Phil had gone on out into the yard, Professor Parkhill
found him.

"Mr. Acton," began the guest timidly, "there is a little matter about
which I feel I should speak to you."

"Very well, sir," returned the cowboy.

"I feel that it would be better for me to speak to you rather than to
Mr. Baldwin, because, well, you are younger, and will, I am sure,
understand more readily."

"All right; what is it, Professor?" asked Phil encouragingly, wondering
at the man's manner.

"Do you mind--ah--walking a little way down the road?"

As they strolled out toward the gate to the meadow road, the professor
continued:

"I think I should tell you about your man Patches."

Phil looked at his companion sharply. "Well, what about him?"

"I trust you will not misunderstand my interest, Mr. Acton, when I say
that it also includes Miss Reid."

Phil stopped short. Instantly Mrs. Baldwin's remark about Patches'
happiness, his own confession that he had given up all hope of winning
Kitty, and the thought of the friendship which he had seen developing
during the past months, with the realization that Patches belonged to
that world to which Kitty aspired--all swept through his mind. He was
looking at the man beside him so intently that the professor said again
uneasily:

"I trust, Mr. Acton, that you will understand."

Phil laughed shortly. "I think I do. But just the same you'd better
explain. What about Patches and Miss Reid, sir?"

The professor told how he had found them together that afternoon.

"Oh, is that all?" laughed Phil.

"But surely, Mr. Acton, you do not think that a man of that fellow's
evident brutal instincts is a fit associate for a young woman of Miss
Reid's character and refinement."

"Perhaps not," admitted Phil, still laughing, "but I guess Kitty can
take care of herself."

"I do not agree with you, sir," said the other authoritatively. "A young
woman of Miss Reid's--ah--spirituality and worldly inexperience must
always be, to a certain extent, injured by contact with such illiterate,
unrefined, and, I have no doubt, morally deficient characters."

"Bu