And might have added that as Mary fed the lamb three times a day and twice on Sundays, he probably not only knew on which side his daily bread was buttered, but also who buttered it.’ ‘Dreadful boy!’ laughed Bell. ‘Polly, pray lower the umbrella; we are going to meet some respectable people, and we actually are too dirty to be seen. I have really been eating dust.’ ‘They must be equally dusty,’ said Polly, sagely. ‘Why, it is the Burtons, from Tacitas ranch!’ The Burton ranch wagon was drawn up, as its driver recognised Dr. Winship, and he proceeded to cheer the spirits of the party by telling them that he had passed Pancho two hours before, and that he was busily clearing rubbish from the camping-ground. This was six o’clock, and by a little after eight the weary, happy party were seated on saddle-blankets and carriage-cushions round a cheery camp-fire, eating a frugal meal, which tasted sweeter than nectar and ambrosia to their keen appetites. The boys expressed their intention of spending the night in unpacking their baggage and getting to rights generally, but Dr. Winship placed a prompt and decisive veto on this proposition, and they submitted cheerfully to his better judgment. Getting to bed was an exciting occupation for everybody. Dicky was first tucked up in a warm nest of rugs and blankets, under a tree, and sank into a profound slumber at once, with the happy unconsciousness of childhood. His father completed the preparations for his comfort by opening a huge umbrella and arranging it firmly over his head, so that no falling leaf might frighten him and no sudden gust of air blow upon his face. Bell stood before her hammock, and meditated. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘going to bed is a simple matter after all, when you have shorn it of all useless formalities. Let me see: I generally walk to and fro in the room, eating a bunch of grapes or an orange, look out of the window five or ten minutes, brush my hair, read my chapter in the Bible, take my book and study Spanish five minutes, on the principle of that abnormal woman who learned ninety-six languages while she was waiting for the kettle to boil in the morning—’ ‘Must have been a slow boiler,’ interrupted Polly, wickedly. ‘Seems to me it would have been economy to sell it and buy a new one.’ ‘Oh, Polly! you are so wilfully stupid! The kettle isn’t the point—but the languages. Besides, she didn’t learn all the ninety-six while the kettle was boiling once, you know.’ ‘Oh, didn’t she? That alters the case. Thank you,’ said Polly, sarcastically.