nt.

But the overturned spring cart held most interest just now, and he
moved over to it. The vehicle was a complete wreck, so complete,
indeed, that he wondered how the girl had escaped without injury. Two
trunks lay near by, evidently thrown out by the force of the upset,
and it pleased him to think that they had been saved to their owner.
He examined them closely. Yes, the contents were probably untouched by
the water. But what was this? The initials on the lid were "J. S." The
girl's name was Rest. At least so Mrs. Ransford had stated. He
wondered. Then his wonder passed. These were very likely trunks
borrowed for the journey. He remembered that the Padre had a leather
grip with other initials than his own upon it.

Where was the teamster? He looked out at the racing waters, and the
question answered itself. Then he turned quickly to the girl. Poor
soul, he thought, her coming to the farm had been one series of
disasters. So, with an added tenderness, he stooped and lifted her
gently in his arms and proceeded on his way.

At last he came to the farm, which only that morning he had so eagerly
avoided. And his feelings were not at all unpleasant as he saw again
the familiar buildings. The rambling house he had known so long
inspired him with a fresh joy at the thought of its new occupant. He
remembered how it had grown from a log cabin, just such as the huts of
the gold-seekers, and how, with joy and pride, he and the Padre had
added to it and reconstructed as the years went by. He remembered the
time when he had planted the first wild cucumber, which afterward
became an annual function and never failed to cover the deep veranda
with each passing year. There, too, was the cabbage patch crowded with
a wealth of vegetables. And he remembered how careful he had been to
select a southern aspect for it. The small barns, the hog-pens, where
he could even now hear the grunting swine grumbling their hours away.
The corrals, two, across the creek, reached by a log bridge of their
own construction. Then, close by stood the nearly empty hay corrals,
waiting for this year's crop. No, the sight of these things had no
regrets for him now. It was a pleasant thought that it was all so
orderly and flourishing, since this girl was its future mistress.

He reached the veranda before his approach was realized by the
farm-wife within. Then, as his footsteps resounded on the rough
surface of the flooring of split logs, Mrs. Ransford ca