lucking hen, about the last preparations for the party.

And meanwhile Frances was undecided. She almost wished she might run
away from the ordeal before her. To face all these people whom, after
all, she knew so slightly, and play hostess at her father's table, and
be criticised by them all, was an ordeal hard for the range girl to
face.

She was not particularly shy; but she shrank from unkind remarks, and
she was sure of having at least one critic-extraordinary at the
table--Sue Latrop.

This was really Frances' "coming out party" but she didn't want to "come
out" at all!

"Oh! I wish they had never come here. I wish daddy had not asked them to
this dinner. Dear me!" groaned the girl of the ranges, "I almost wish I
had never met Pratt at all."

For, looking into the future, she saw a long vista of range work and
quiet living, with merely the minor incidents of ranch life to break the
monotony. This "dip" into society would not even leave a pleasant
remembrance, she was afraid.

And it might be years before she would be called upon to play hostess in
such a way as this again. She sighed and unbraided her hair. At that
moment there sounded a knock upon her door.

She ran to open it to her father.

"Here you are, Frances," said the old ranchman, jovially. "Never mind if
Lon hasn't got here yet; I've gone deeper into the treasure chest. I
want you to be all dolled up to-night."

His hands were fairly ablaze--or looked to be. He had his great palms
cupped, and that cup was full of gems in all sorts of ancient
settings--shooting sparks of all colors in the dimly lighted room.

"There's a handful of stuff to make you pretty," he said, proudly.

The ancient belt dangled over his arm. He placed all the things on her
dressing-table, and stood off to admire their brilliancy. Frances
swallowed a lump in her throat. How could she disappoint him! How could
she try to tell him how unsuitable these gems were for a young girl in
her teens! He would be heart-broken if she did not wear them.

"You are a dear, Daddy!" she murmured, and kissed him. "Now run away and
let me dress."

He tiptoed out, all a-smile. His wife's dressing-room had been a "holy
of holies" to this simple-minded old man, and Frances reminded him every
day, more and more strongly, of the woman whom he had worshiped for a
few happy years.

Frances did not hasten with her preparations, however. She sat down and
spread the gewgaws out before her on the