“Yes,” smiled the elder woman, “three or four weeks, probably, and maybe longer. You never can tell how long lawyers will be, threshing out justice.” “Where? Where? Oh, I call this fine!” Gloria was pulling out the contents of a bureau drawer. “Where are we going, auntie?” “To Cheyenne. Gloria, what in the world are you up to?” “Packing. Cheyenne! I'll dress in a jiffy, auntie, and when I've got my trunk packed I'll pack you.” CHAPTER III. Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, was in rather frequent demand in distant places, when the services of an especially acute lawyer were in demand. When these “cases,” as Gloria termed them, called him to locations worth visiting, Mr. McAndrews delighted in taking his wife and ward with him. The evening preceding the packing-scene in Gloria's bedroom, he and his good wife had come to the rapid decision that a trip to the West just now would be good for Gloria--more likely than anything else to eradicate impressions of unpleasant Pleasant Street. Gloria's impressions were apt to come and go easily, they reasoned, and it was important for this one to go. “You were going away, anyway, and I suppose I can go too, even if it is hot,” his wife had sighed in gentle renunciation of her own comfort. As for Gloria--the child was always delighted with variety and change. No trouble about Gloria! Ten years earlier, when, close upon the death of his beloved young wife, Gloria's father had slipped out of life, the orphan of seven years had been given into Mr. McAndrews' charge, to be loved and petted, while Mr. McAndrews was given her generous little fortune to husband and watch over. It had been a beautiful home for Gloria; unquestioningly she had accepted all its comforts and love. Yet Gloria was not selfish--only young. Gloria's father had been a keen business man, and the investments of his money as he earned it had been of the kind that fatten men's pocketbooks, however lean they may make the bodies of other men. For the time, Treeless Street, lined with little children, vanished from Gloria's mind. The journey she began so promptly was a new one to her, and with the first appearance of daylight the first morning she was ready to enjoy it. Unlike Aunt Em, she was fresh and vigorous after the night in the sleeper; she did not even dream of her recent discoveries in streets. No old-faced little boys in reefed man-trousers appealed to her sleeping pity. [Illustration: It would be something interesting to do.] “Best thing we could have done,” whispered Uncle Em to his wife, watching the girl's animated face. “But I'm afraid it's going to be tough on you, my dear.”