an elaborate indifference that caused the Reverend Len
to smile again to himself behind the gray cloud of his cigarette
smoke.

"You haven't forgotten about my school?" asked Patty next morning, as
Christie and the doctor were preparing to leave for town.

"Indeed, I haven't!" laughed the Bishop of All Outdoors. "School opens
the first of September, and that's not very far away. But badly as we
need you, somehow I feel that we are not going to get you."

"Why?" asked the girl in surprise.

"A whole lot may happen in ten days--and I've got a hunch that before
that time you will have made your strike."

"I hope so!" she exclaimed fervidly. "I know I shall just hate to
teach school--and I'd never do it, either, if I didn't need a
grub-stake."

As she watched him ride away, Patty was joined by Mrs. Samuelson who
stepped from the house and thrust her arm through hers. "My husband
wants to meet you, my dear. He's so very much better this
morning--quite himself. And I must warn you that that means he's rough
as an old bear, apparently, although in reality he's got the tenderest
heart in the world. He always puts his worst foot foremost with
strangers--he may even swear."

Patty laughed: "I'm not afraid. You seem to have survived a good many
years of him. He really can't be so terrible!"

"Oh, he's not terrible at all. Only, I know how much depends upon
first impressions--and I do want you to like us."

Patty drew the old lady's arm about her waist and together they
ascended the stairs: "I love you already, and although I have never
met him I am going to love Mr. Samuelson, too--you see, I have heard a
good deal about him here in the hills."

Entering the room, they advanced to the bed where a big-framed man
with a white mustache and a stubble of gray beard lay propped up on
pillows. Sickness had not paled the rich mahogany of the
weather-seamed face, and the eyes that met Patty's from beneath their
bushy brows were bright as a boy's. "Good morning! Good morning! So,
you're Rod Sinclair's daughter, are you? An' a chip of the old block,
by what mama's been tellin' me. I knew Rod well. He was a real
prospector. Knew his business, an' went at it business fashion. Wasn't
like most of 'em--makin' their rock-peckin' an excuse to get out of
workin'. They tell me you ain't afraid to live alone in the hills, an'
ain't afraid to make a midnight ride to fetch the doc for an old
long-horn like me. That's stuff! Didn't know th