the round-up was over and the last of the beef on the way
to Chicago, and the fat Irish cook gathered up the reins of his
four-horse team, mounted with a grunt to the high seat of the mess
wagon and pointed his leaders thankfully into the trail which led to
the Double-Crank, though the sky was a hard gray and the wind blew
chill with the bite of winter and though tiny snowflakes drifted
aimlessly to earth with a quite deceitful innocence, as if they knew
nothing of more to come and were only idling through the air, the
blood of Charming Billy rioted warmly through his veins and his voice
had a lilt which it had long lacked and he sang again the pitifully
foolish thing with which he was wont to voice his joy in living.

"I have been to see my wife,
She's the joy of my life,
She's a young thing, and cannot leave her mother!"

"Thought Bill had got too proud t' sing that song uh hisn," the cook
yelled facetiously to the riders who were nearest. "I was lookin' for
him to bust out in grand-opry, or something else that's a heap more
stylish than his old come-all-ye."

Charming Billy turned and rested a hand briefly upon the cantle while
he told the cook laughingly to go to the hot place, and then settled
himself to the pace that matched the leaping blood of him. That pace
soon discouraged the others and left them jogging leisurely a mile
or two in the rear, and it also brought him the sooner to his
destination.

"Wonder if she's mad yet," he asked himself, when he dismounted. No
one seemed to be about, but he reflected that it was just about noon
and they would probably be at dinner--and, besides, the weather was
not the sort to invite one outdoors unless driven by necessity.

The smell of roast meat, coffee and some sort of pie assailed his
nostrils pleasantly when he came to the house, and he went in eagerly
by the door which would bring him directly to the dining room. As he
had guessed, they were seated at the table. "Why, come in, William,"
Dill greeted, a welcoming note in his voice. "We weren't looking for
you, but you are in good time. We've only just begun."

"How do you do, Mr. Boyle?" Miss Bridger added demurely.

"Hello, Bill! How're yuh coming?" cried another, and it was to him
that the eyes of Billy Boyle turned bewilderedly. That the Pilgrim
should be seated calmly at the Double-Crank table never once occurred
to him. In his thoughts of Miss Bridger he had mentally eliminated the
Pilgrim