ing his new job.

"I reckon he'll think I'm right unneighborly," he said to himself as he
rode.

When he reached the nester's cabin, the dog Nig greeted him with
vociferous affection, bringing Hagar to the door.

"Oh, it's Rex!" cried the girl delightedly. And then, reproachfully: "Me
an' dad allowed you wasn't comin' any more!"

"You an' dad was a heap mistaken, then," he grinned as he dismounted and
trailed the reins over the pony's head. "I've had a heap to 'tend to," he
added as he stepped on the porch and came to a halt, looking at her.
"Why, I reckon the little kid I used to know ain't here any more!" he
said, his eyes alight with admiration, as he critically examined her
garments from the distance that separated her from him--a neat house
dress of striped gingham, high at the throat, the bottom hem reaching
below her shoe-tops; a loose-fitting apron over the dress, drawn tightly
at the waist, giving her figure graceful curves. He had never thought of
Hagar in connection with beauty; he had been sorry for her, pitying
her--she had been a child upon whom he had bestowed much of the unselfish
devotion of his heart; indeed, there had been times when it had assumed a
practical turn, and through various ruses much of his wages had been
delicately forced upon the nester. It had not always been wisely
expended, for he knew that Catherson drank deeply at times.

Now, however, Randerson realized that the years must inevitably make a
change in Hagar. That glimpse he had had of her on the Flying W
ranchhouse porch had made him think, but her appearance now caused him to
think more deeply. It made constraint come into his manner.

"I reckon your dad ain't anywhere around?" he said.

"Dad's huntin' up some cattle this mornin'," she told him. "Shucks," she
added, seeing him hesitate, "ain't you comin' in?"

"Why, I've been wonderin'" and he grinned guiltily "whether it'd be
exactly proper. You see, there was a time when I busted right in the
house without waitin' for an invitation--tickled to get a chance to
dawdle a kid on my knee. But I reckon them dawdle-days is over. I
wouldn't think of tryin' to dawdle a _woman_ on my knee. But if you think
that you're still Hagar Catherson, an' you won't be dead-set on me
dawdlin' you--Why, shucks, I reckon I'm talkin' like a fool!" And his
face blushed crimson.

Her face was red too, but she seemed to be less conscious of the change
in herself than he, though her eyes drooped w