ugh her gown was of cheapest print and her
surroundings those of an isolated western ranch. Her daughter ran to
cast a clinging, yet protecting, arm about her, and proudly turning
toward their guest, presented:

"My mother, Mrs. Trent, Mr. ----" and smiling waited for him to finish
the sentence.

"Hale. I had forgotten to mention my name before, even though we have
chatted so cosily. Permit me, madam."

The card he offered bore the inscription:

"Mr. Morris Hale, Attorney at Law, 156 Broadway, New York."

Watchful Jessica saw her mother's face pale, while into her native
cordiality of manner crept that slight hauteur with which she regarded
the most objectionable of "tourists." This, then, was one such, and
the girl was sorry. She had liked the stranger so much and was already
planning pleasant entertainment for him; but if her dear did not approve
of him her own opinion went for naught.

Yet it was only the statement of the gentleman's business that had
caused Mrs. Trent's momentary coldness, for at that time, though her
daughter did not know this, the mere suggestion of law or lawyers
disturbed her. But she was quick to feel the possible injustice of her
fear and to atone for it by a deeper cordiality.

"You have come just in time to share our dinner, Mr. Hale, and we'll
not wait any longer for laggards. I was looking for the children. Jessie,
dear, have you seen them?"

"Not since breakfast, mother. But they can't be far away, for there's
Scruff yonder, trying to get into the alfalfa."

"Antonio hasn't come up, either, since the plucking. I wish he would
while the food is fresh. If you'll----"

"We needn't wait for him, because I met him riding toward the
foothills, as I came home. He's probably off to the mines and that
means an all-day's trip. But I'll help you dish up, and seek the
boys, though they don't often need seeking at mealtime. You sit right
down with Mr. Hale, dear, and I'll serve you. Pasqual can bring in the
tureen, and I hope the eggs aren't spoiled by waiting."

"Is Scruff that mottled burro poking his nose through that fence?"
asked the guest.

"Yes. He belongs to my little son, Ned, who shares him with his
playmate, Luis. An inseparable trio, usually."

"Then I'm the cause of their present separation. I rode that animal
down from old Pedro's cabin and at his advice," Mr. Hale described
his meeting with the two small lads, the fright they had given him,
and his own desertion of them