st a great while the way the river is
getting under it now." Dancing wheeled like an elephant on his bronco
and clattered away through the mud. Lance Dunning, recovering from his
surprise, started his men back for the wagons, and McCloud,
dismounting, walked with him to the water's edge to plan the fight for
what was left of the strip in front of the alfalfa fields.

When Whispering Smith got back to the house he was in good-humor. He
joined Dicksie and Marion in the dining-room, where they were
drinking coffee. Afterward Dicksie ordered horses saddled and the
three rode to the river. Up and down the bank as far as they could see
in the misty rain, men were moving slowly about--more men, it seemed
to Dicksie, than she had ever seen together in her life. The confusion
and the noise had disappeared. No one appeared to hurry, but every one
had something to do, and, from the gangs who with sledges were sinking
"dead-men" among the trees to hold the cables of the mattress that was
about to be sunk, and the Japs who were diligently preparing to float
and load it, to the men that were filling and wheeling the sandbags,
no one appeared excited. McCloud joined the visitors for a few moments
and then went back to where Dancing and his men on life-lines were
guiding the mattress to its resting-place. In spite of the gloom of
the rain, which Whispering Smith said was breaking, Dicksie rode back
to the house in much better spirits with her two guests; and when they
came from luncheon the sun, as Smith had predicted, was shining.

"Oh, come out!" cried Dicksie, at the door. Marion had a letter to
write and went upstairs, but Whispering Smith followed Dicksie. "Does
everything you say come true?" she demanded as she stood in the
sunshine.

She was demure with light-heartedness and he looked at her
approvingly. "I hope nothing I may say ever will come true unless it
makes you happy," he answered lightly. "It would be a shame if it did
anything else."

She pointed two accusing fingers at him. "Do you know what you
promised last night? You have forgotten already! You said you would
tell me why my leghorns are eating their feathers off."

"Let me talk with them."

"Just what I should like. Come on!" said Dicksie, leading the way to
the chicken-yard. "I want you to see my bantams too. I have three of
the dearest little things. One is setting. They are over the way. Come
see them first. And, oh, you must see my new game chickens. Tru