on, took off his
hat and rubbed his shiny, pink pate in dismay. He was, for the moment,
a culprit caught in the act of committing a grave misdemeanor if not
an actual felony. He dropped the rope and went forward with dragging
feet--ashamed, for the first time in his life, to face a friend.

Luck gave the wheel a twist, cut a fine curve around the windmill and
stopped before the house with as near a flourish as a seven-passenger
automobile loaded from tail-lamp to windshield can possibly approach.

"There. That's the way I've been used to seeing cars behave," Luck
observed pointedly to the deposed chauffeur as he slammed the door open
and climbed out. "You don't have to act like you're a catepillar on a
rail fence, to play safe. I believe in keeping all four wheels on the
ground--but I like to see 'em turn once in awhile. You get me?" He
peeled a five-dollar banknote off a roll the size of his wrist, handed
it to the impressed chauffeur and dismissed the transaction with a
wave of his gloved hand. "You're all right, brother," he tempered his
criticism, "but I'm some nervous about automobiles."

"I noticed that myself," drawled a soft, humorous voice from the rear.
"This is the nearest I ever came to traveling by telegraph."

Luck grinned, waved his hand in friendly greeting to the Happy Family
who were taking long steps up from the corral, and turned his attention
to the unloading of the machine. "Howdy, folks!--guess yuh thought I'd
plumb lost the trail back," he called to them over his shoulder while he
dove after suitcases, packages of various sizes and shapes, a box or
two which the Happy Family recognized as containing "raw stock," and a
camera tripod that looked perfectly new.

From the congested tonneau a tall, slim young woman managed to descend
without stepping on anything that could not bear being stepped upon. She
gave her skirts a little shake, pushed back a flying strand of hair and
turned her back to the machine that she might the better inspect her
immediate surroundings.

Old Dave Wiswell, the dried little man who never had much to say, peered
at her sharply, hesitated and then came forward with his bony hand
outstretched and trembling with eagerness. "Why, my gorry! If it ain't
Jean Douglas, my eyes are lyin' to me," he cried.

"It isn't Jean Douglas--but don't blame your eyes for that," said the
girl, taking his hand and shaking it frankly. "Jean Douglas Avery,
thanks to the law that makes a girl