in the curious handwriting which James Barlow had
acquired; quite different both girls knew from that of any other they
had ever seen. Then they stared at one another, not knowing whether to
be glad or sorry.

"What does it mean?" cried Dorothy at last, while Molly drew near to
learn what had happened to surprise them. For answer Alfaretta handed
her the cover and fairly gasped out:

"Jim--our Jim--wrote that--or painted it--or--or--It's Jim, true as
preachin'!"

"Huh! then all I can say is that this paragon of a Jim has a mighty
poor style of writing. Looks more as if that lamb had bumped its
itsy--witsy--heady--and made it bleed. That's some Indian 'mark' that
the maker of the basket put on it. Don't try to get up any excitement
over that."

Alfy shook her head but Dorothy did not look up. She was searching the
soft, wilted grass that lined the basket; and, in the bottom, tied to a
bunch of faded flowers was a little glistening stone. The pebble was
marked by another D, traced in the red juice of some plant.

The basket went one way, the lamb another as Dorothy sprang to her feet
and danced for very joy.

"Yes, it's from Jim--it's from Jim! And he's alive--somewhere he is
alive! Oh! I am so glad, so glad!"

Alfy was glad, too, of this reminder of the lad's existence, but she was
also ashamed of him.

"Huh! I don't see what there's to be so tickled over, for my part! Jim
Barlow's actin' like a regular simpleton. And he's mean, too. He's
meaner 'n pussley, makin' everybody such a lot of trouble. Folks riding
night and day to hunt for him--some out scourin' round this very
minute--and him just stayin' away 'cause--'cause--"

"'Cause what, Alfaretta Babcock?" demanded Molly sternly. As always she
was loyal to her beloved Dorothy whose joy Alfy was rapidly spoiling by
her contempt for the truant.

"'Cause, I s'pose he hasn't any decent clothes to come home in. He
didn't take his with him and clothes don't grow on trees, even in
Colorado. But--if I knew where he was I'd take 'em to him and give him a
piece o' my mind along with 'em."

"Give it to me, instead, missy. I'm kind of sort of hungry for it!" said
a familiar voice behind them, and there was Captain Lem leaning on the
sill of the dairy window and looking at them with that amused expression
of his. He seemed to find a lot of young folks the most entertaining
company in the world. He had hated their coming and had instantly veered
around to be thankful