d in her
feelings; she was hurt in other places as well, and her new bonnet
hopelessly smashed in on one side. Too surprised to do anything but
choke for a few seconds, Frieda let her preserver set her up on the
ground and brush off some of the sand and twigs. He seemed a middle-aged
man, quite as old as Jim, with iron-gray hair and dark eyes, and such a
funny expression through his glasses, it was hard to tell whether he was
smiling or sympathetic.

Jack now appeared and saw that her small sister was not seriously hurt.
Just as she started to thank her rescuer a vision of what they had just
seen flashed between them. Swiftly Jack's gray eyes darkened, her lips
curved and she burst into a peal of gay laughter, which the stranger
echoed until he had to take out his handkerchief to wipe his eyeglasses.

Frieda gazed at them both indignantly, then the tears which had been
nobly held back rushed down her pink cheeks like the streams from a
spouting geyser.

"Oh, dear me, now you are crying and I told you I would give you
something if you wouldn't!" the tourist remarked hastily. Down in his
pocket went his hand, and before Frieda's and Jack's amazed eyes were
displayed a handful of bright jewels, topaz and jasper, agate and
garnets.

Jack shook her head decisively. "No, thank you," she said. "You are very
kind, but they are much too valuable for Frieda to accept. We must say
good-by; our friends are signaling us."

Mr. Peter Drummond laughed good-humoredly. "Please let her have
one--they are not of value," he begged. "I just have a fancy for pretty
stones, like a small boy, and these have all been found in the state of
Wyoming." Frieda's small hand closed suddenly over a shining bit of
yellow jasper. Jack blushed, but there was no time for argument. Carlos
had already sped down the hill and Jim was shouting to them. From the
top of their caravan, as it took up its forward march, Jack and Frieda
beheld the distinguished stranger still watching them, and waved their
handkerchiefs to him in farewell.

Just before sunset the caravaners arrived in front of the hotel where
they intended to spend the night. Yellowstone Lake lay a wonderful sheet
of clear water at one side of them, but the travelers were weary of
scenery and far more interested in the guests who crowded the hotel
verandah. The women wore pretty afternoon toilets and the men white
flannels, as though they were visitors at fashionable Newport homes
instead of