e grinned to himself, a trifle shame-facedly. "It's just
the springtime in the air."

In such a mood there appeared to Bud Lee a vision. Nothing less. He
was in the little meadow hidden from the ranch-house by gentle hills
still green with young June. He had been working Lovelady, a newly
broken saddle-mare. Standing with his back to a tree, a cigarette in
the making in his hands, his black hat far back upon his head, he
smilingly watched Lovelady as with regained freedom she galloped back
across the meadow to her herd. Then a shadow on the grass drew Lee's
eyes swiftly away from the mare and to the vision.

Over the verdant flooring of the meadow, stepping daintily in and out
among the big golden buttercups, came one who might well have been that
lady of his dreams. A milk-white hand held up a pale-pink skirt,
disclosing the lacy flounce of a fine underskirt, pale-pink stockings
and mincing little slippers; a pink parasol cast the most delicate of
tints upon a pretty face from which big blue eyes looked out a little
timorously upon the tall horse foreman.

He knew that this was Marcia Langworthy. He had never known until now
just how pretty she was, how like a flower.

Marcia paused, seemed to hesitate, dodged suddenly as a noisy bumblebee
sailed down the air. Then the bee buzzed on and Marcia smiled. Still
stepping daintily she came on until, with her parasol twirling over her
shoulder, she stood in the shade with Lee.

"You're Mr. Lee, aren't you?" asked Marcia. She was still smiling and
looked cool and fresh and very alluring.

Lee dropped the makings of his cigarette, ground the paper into the sod
with his heel and removed his hat with a gallantry little short of
reverence.

"Yes," he answered, his gravity touched with the hint of a responsive
smile. "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Langworthy?"

"Oh!" cried Marcia. "So you know who I am? Yet I have never seen you,
I think."

"The star doesn't always see the moth, you know," offered Lee, a little
intoxicated by the first "vision" of this kind he had seen in many
years.

"Oh!" cried Marcia again, and then stopped, looking at him, frankly
puzzled. She knew little first-hand of horse foremen. But she had
seen Carson, even talked with him. And she had seen other workmen.
She would, until now, have summed them all up as illiterate, awkward,
and impossibly backward and shy. A second long, curious glance at Lee
failed to show tha