Barbara was anything but boyish to look at; quite the opposite, in fact. She was delightfully feminine from the crown of her smart little traveling hat to her dainty French heels, and although her suit was not expensive, it was worn with an air and was perhaps as fetching as any that had ever come to Wichita Falls. It gave the impression of perfectly setting off a figure and a personality that required no setting off. She had the Parker eyes of quenchless blue. "Well, son, there's a boom on and the town has grown some; but I guess things here are about the same as when you left 'em." Tom spoke with pride and satisfaction as he paid the driver, took Barbara's suitcase, and opened the gate for her. The girl turned from her first long, appraising gaze at the modest home. No change, indeed! The paint on the house was peeling, gutters had rusted out, some of the porch flooring had rotted through, the yard was an unkempt tangle of matted grass and weeds and neglected shrubbery. The sight of it was like a stab to her, for she remembered the place as it had been, and the shock was akin to that of seeing a loved one in the garb of a tramp. But she smiled up at the gray face above her--Tom, too, was as seedy as the premises--and she nodded. "It hasn't changed a mite," she said, bravely. A moment later she paused upon the threshold, tense, thrilled, apparently speechless. Tom was reminded of a trim little wren poised upon the edge of its nest. This time it was more difficult to counterfeit an exclamation of joy, but the catch in "Bob's" voice, the moisture in her eyes, was attributed by her father to gladness at the sight of old familiar things. This was pay for the thought and the love and the labor expended, truly. "Why, everything is right where it belongs! How _wonderfully_ you've kept house! You must have a perfect jewel of a girl, dad!" "I let Aunt Lizzie go 'bout three years back," Tom explained. "She got--shiftless and I been sort of batching it since. Clean, though, ain't it?" Barbara turned; blindly she walked to the center table and buried her face in a bouquet of wild flowers garnered from the yard. She held it there for a moment before she spoke. "You--didn't even forget that I love bluebonnets, did you, dad?" "Pshaw! I 'ain't had much to do but remember what you like, son." "What's the matter? Business bad?" "Bob's" face was still hidden. "Oh no! I'm busy as usual. But, now you're home, I'll probably feel like doing more. I got a lot of work left in me yet, now I got somebody to work for." "So you fixed everything with your own hands." "Sure! I knew how you like the place to look, and--well, a man gets used to doing without help. The kitchen's clean, too."