any of you girls were up and invited me to let him go
along on our trip, if you would give your consent. I told him I wasn't
thinking of running a co-educational excursion party; my job was to look
after girls, not boys." Jim took another long, slow puff at his cigar
and was silent.

"Do go on, Jim," Jean urged, giving him a friendly nudge. "You know
Donald Harmon said something else that made you cross."

"Oh, no, except he asked such an all-fired lot of questions," Jim
answered. "I didn't see his game at first; he kind of led up to it by
degrees. But he wanted to know how long Olive had been living with us
and how you girls happened to adopt her and what made her own people
give her up. When I found out what he was after I didn't give him the
least bit of information. I hate a Paul Pry."

Jean laughed lightly, "Oh, it isn't just curiosity on Donald Harmon's
part, Jim. Of course, you and Jack would scorn to notice it, but Donald
has a crush on Olive. I have seen it from the first. Olive don't like
him a bit, but he is always staring at her."

Jim threw away his half-finished cigar. "Look here, Jean Bruce, will you
please stop talking about crushes and such nonsense?" he remarked
sternly. "I never hear any of the other girls talking such foolishness,
and I think Miss Ruth ought to see that you put a stop to it. I mean to
speak to her about it."

"Grouchy," Jean whispered under her breath, then her eyes sparkled
wickedly. "Here comes Ruth now; I'll run and tell her that you want to
complain of the way she is bringing me up." Jean slid down over the
wagon wheel out of the reach of Jim's restraining fingers, and he
retired into the covered depth of the wagon, pretending not to have
observed Miss Drew's approach. However, Jean fled past her chaperon
without a word and only a mischievous nod of her head.

Ruth was walking down the road from the Lodge, already dressed for the
journey. Little blonde Frieda was on one side of her and little brown
Carlos on the other, and all of them had their arms loaded with bundles.
Ruth wore a short, plaited skirt which showed her pretty feet clad in
high, brown leather boots. A Norfolk jacket, a tan silk blouse and a
soft brown felt hat completed her costume. Somehow she seemed to have
lost ten years of her age and looked about eighteen. There was no trace
of the maidenly primness that had been so conspicuous in the early days
of her stay at the Rainbow Ranch. Her figure was pretty e