It was in pursuance of this laudable intention that on the second morning following Ben Blair's adoption into the Box R Ranch--a Sunday--the Englishman hitched a team of his best blooded trotters to the antiquated phaeton, which was the only vehicle he possessed, and started across country at a lively clip. Thus it came to pass that about two hours later, having tied his team at the barn and started for the ranch-house, the visitor saw squarely in his path upon the sunny south doorstep an object that made him pause and blink his near-sighted eyes. Under the concentration of his vision, the object resolved itself into a small boy perched like a frog upon a rock, his fingers locked across his shins, his chin upon his knees. For an instant the Englishman hesitated. Courtesy was instinctive with him. "Can you tell me whether Mr. Rankin is at home?" he asked. The lad calmly disentangled himself and stood up. "You mean the big man, sir?" Again Scotty was guilty of a breach of etiquette. He stared. "Certainly," he replied at last. Ben Blair stepped out of the way. "Yes, sir, he is." Within the ranch-house Scotty dropped into the nearest chair. "Tell me, Rankin," he began, "who is the new-comer, and where did you get him?" A long leg swung comfortably over its mate. "And, by the way, while you're about it, is he six or sixty? By Jove, I couldn't tell!" The host looked at his visitor quizzically. "Ben, I suppose you mean?" "Ben, or _Tom_, I don't know. I mean the gentleman on the front steps, the one who didn't know your name," and the Englishman related the recent conversation. The corners of Rankin's eyes tightened into an unwonted smile as he listened, and then contracted until the corner of the large mouth drew upward in sympathy. "I'm not surprised, Baker," he admitted, "that you're in doubt about Ben's age. He's eight; but I'd be uncertain myself if I didn't absolutely know. As to his not knowing my name--it's just struck me that I've never introduced myself to the little fellow." "But how did you come to get him? This isn't a country where one sees many children roaming around." "No," the big mouth dropped back into its normal shape; "that's a fact. He didn't just drop in. I got him by adoption, I suppose; least ways, I asked him to come and live with me, and he accepted." The speaker turned to his companion directly. "You knew Jennie Blair, did you?" Scotty looked interested. "Knew of her, but never had the pleasure of an acquaintance. I always--" "Well," interrupted Rankin impassively, "Ben's her son. She died awhile ago, you remember, and somehow it seemed to break Blair all up. He wouldn't stay here any longer, and didn't want to take the kid with him, so I took the youngster in. As far as I know, the arrangement will stick." For a minute there was silence. Scotty observed his host shrewdly, almost sceptically. "That's all of the story, is it?" he asked at last. "All, as far as I know."