ave hit the trail for the nearest book-store and roped every
book in sight."

Genevieve laughed appreciatively.

"But, the supper?" she frowned again.

"Oh, that's part of the outfit--and Reddy said it was 'dinner,' too. He
said that he was raised back East, and that he knew; and that 'twas more
seemly that you ate it without their company."

"Humph! Well, it isn't, and I sha'n't," settled Genevieve, emphatically.
"Where is Reddy? Go in to supper," she laughed, "and I'll round up the
boys--I mean, I'll find them," she corrected demurely. "Miss Jane
doesn't like me to say 'round up,' Mr. Tim."

Mr. Tim smiled, but his eyes grew tender--almost anxious.

"I reckon they haven't spoiled you back East, after all, little girl.
You're the same true blue, like you was, before."

Genevieve laughed and colored a little.

"Of course I am," she declared. "Now I'm going for the boys."

Mr. Tim laid a detaining hand on her arm.

"Not to-night; it's late, and it would make no end of fuss all around.
But I'll tell them. They'll be on hand for breakfast, all right. Now go
back to your own supper, yourself."

"All right," agreed Genevieve, reluctantly. "But--to-morrow, remember!"

"I ain't forgetting--to-morrow," nodded the man.

In the dining-room Genevieve was greeted with a merry clamor, under
cover of which she said hurriedly to her father:

"It's all right. They'll come to-morrow."

"I guess you won't find we've left you much to eat," gurgled Elsie
Martin, her mouth full of fried chicken.

"Oh, yes, I shall--in Texas," retorted Genevieve.

"But I'm so ashamed," apologized Cordelia. "I don't think we ought to
eat so much."

"I do," disagreed Tilly, "when everything is so perfectly lovely as this
is. They are just the nicest things! And just guess how many hot
biscuits I've eaten with this delicious plum sauce! Mr. Hartley says
they're wild--the plums, I mean, not the biscuits."

"And it's all such a surprise, too," interposed Alma Lane; "milk, and
butter, and all."

Genevieve stared frankly.

"Surprise!--_milk and butter!_" she exclaimed. "Didn't you suppose we
had milk and butter?"

Alma blushed.

"Why, Genevieve, I--I didn't mean anything, you know, truly I didn't,"
she stammered. "It's only that--that ranches don't usually have them,
you know."

"Don't usually have them!" frowned Genevieve. "Alma Lane, what _are_ you
talking about?"

"Why, we read it, you know, in a book," explained Cordelia, hastil