vinced at the sheet of paper she held
in her hand. She was sitting in Turkish fashion on the grass just
outside the umbrella and, as her Mexican hat had been flung aside, the
spring sun shone directly down on the bright bronze of her hair and
warmed to a richer rose the brilliant color in her cheeks. The past few
months had wrought little change in her, save that the lifting of the
clouds from about her home had left her more radiant and full of purpose
than ever before.

"I don't know whether it is an opportunity or not," she answered
dreamily. "What do you think, dears?" she inquired of a young woman who
was watching the steam pour forth from a brass teakettle, and of a
quiet, dark-haired girl who sat near by contentedly embroidering a
square of linen.

Olive hesitated for a moment, looking toward their chaperon, but Ruth
was too busy with the teakettle--which had chosen that moment to boil
over--to have time to reply. "I know a hundred dollars a month does
sound like a great deal of money," Olive agreed slowly, "but I wonder
what the people are like who wish to rent our ranch. And where can we go
if we give up our house to them?"

Jack shook her head uncertainly, but Jean flung out both arms in an
imploring gesture, and a beseeching expression softened her merry brown
eyes. "Where could we go? Why, haven't we the whole round world to
choose from?" she demanded pleadingly. "And don't the very breezes call
us to follow them in search of adventure? Oh, I can feel the spring
_Wanderlust_ in my blood this very minute. Cousin Ruth, Jack, Olive,
please agree with me or I can't bear it. Surely you must see that this
letter from Mrs. Post's friends, who want Rainbow Lodge for the summer,
is just heaven sent. We were dying to take a trip and now we can go
everywhere--or just somewhere, I don't care where, because we have never
been anywhere in our lives." And Jean paused only because she was out of
breath and not because of the laughter that greeted her peculiar form of
eloquence.

The three ranch girls and their chaperon, Ruth Drew, were having an
impromptu tea party all to themselves in their miniature orchard on a
lovely May day. Their fruit trees were not yet large enough for shade.
Indeed, at the present time they looked like glorified bouquets set on
tall, slender stalks, their branches were so small, so fragrant and so
covered with delicate fairylike blossoms. The cherry and plum trees were
in full bloom and the pi