rnest had recognized his father's writing on the closely written
sheets.

"No, dear, just some perplexing business. Sit down and I'll read it to
you--but don't mention the matter to anyone yet."

Ernest came close to his mother, putting his arm affectionately about
her shoulders.

"Don't look so solemn, Mother," he protested.

"Am I looking solemn? Well, I do feel worried. Listen to this:

"My dear Wife,

"I was glad to get your letter of the 8th with the welcome news
that you are all well and that Marian is getting about again. I
have important news for you and for Frank. I am writing to him by
the same mail. I have bought the ranch! A really choice one, I
believe, and so cheap it must surely double in value in ten years.
There is an entire section, and good water for house and stock--a
wonderful big spring in a little rocky dell shaded by a great oak
tree hundreds of years old. It will charm you all. Chicken Little
will want to set up housekeeping under it immediately and you and
Marian would find it a lovely cool nook for a summer afternoon.
The big spring widens into a brook twenty feet below and goes
singing away over the stones. A good-sized spring house has been
built over it and crocks of butter and milk and great melons are
set right in the cold running water. You never saw such a
refrigerator. The place has magnificent orchards, peach, apple and
cherry with grapes and blackberries also.

"Tell Chicken Little I saw a flock of quail in the apple orchard.
Our baby quail got tangled in the long grass as he tried to scurry
away and I picked him up. He was a jolly soft little brown ball
with the brightest eyes. I would have liked to bring him home to
the child but I was afraid I couldn't care for him. Tell her
though I have a most astonishing present for her and she can never
guess what it is, if she lies awake every night till I come. But
to return to the ranch--it has two hundred acres of fine farming
land, unlimited pasture, and a heavily timbered creek crossing it
diagonally. The details I must give you when I get home. You have
never seen a lovelier sight than the prairies at this time of
year--I counted thirty-seven different kinds of flowers in one
spot. Chicken Little would love the little sensitive plants that
curl up their leaves when you touch them and open them again when
they think you are gone. But I have forgotten the houses--the