"That’s only the sporting spirit in her, mother," said Stillwater. "She comes by it honestly." He smiled as he recalled a few venturesome dealings of his own within the last year, which had not culminated as he would have wished. Stillwater was one of the men who could enjoy a laugh at his own expense. "There was a devil in me, this morning," said Indiana, fiercely, "and I just rode it down." "Indiana!" "That’s only young blood, mother. You can’t expect her to be the same as we old-timers." He glanced slyly at Mrs. Bunker, who poked him with her needle. "I was on the war path," said Indiana. "If I hadn’t gone out with Circus, I—I—well, you’d have just scattered, that’s all." "Bet yer life," chuckled Stillwater. "Is my dress finished?" asked Indiana, burying her face in the pink and white folds on Mrs. Stillwater’s lap. "Just a stitch or two more, dear. I’ve been working on it all morning." "It looks so nice and cool. I want to put it on." "So you shall, dear," said Mrs. Stillwater, in the tone one uses to a fractious baby. "Just leave my hair alone, Glen," exclaimed Indiana, turning suddenly around on him, with flashing eyes. "All right, Indiana," he said, meekly. "Come now, darling; come up stairs and when you’ve had your bath, I’ll dress you up and brush your hair nicely. It’s all tangled." "I didn’t mean to be cross, Glen," said Indiana, with a sudden change of mood, as Mrs. Stillwater took her hand and led her through the kitchen. "Oh, that’s all right, Indiana!" Glen Masters had known Indiana all her life. When she was born, the six-year old Glen came to see the baby, and stood by her cradle, sucking his thumb in solemn-eyed wonder. Not having any brothers or sisters of his own, he adopted her immediately; and he loved to be tyrannized over by the petted baby girl, who kicked and scratched him one minute, and the next caressed him with her little, soft, fat palms. His father had risen in the world very much the same way as Stillwater. They had been ranchmen together. Stillwater lit a meerschaum pipe and puffed it slowly. Glen followed his example. "There’s two birds building a nest up in that sycamore," said Stillwater. "Hear them twitter? They’re just as happy as can be." Glen lounged on the step, looking dreamily up at the sky. "Well, how are things going on over at the farm?" inquired Stillwater. "Oh, we’ll show some livestock at the County Fair that can’t be beat." His eyes smiled a challenge at Stillwater. "No competition," chuckled Stillwater, "but just you come over to the barn. I want to show you something. ’Farming ain’t no fad with Friend Masters,’ but I’ll meet him at Phillipi." "When you men once get with the livestock, that’s the last we see of you. Dinner’s ready as soon as Indiana’s dressed," said Mrs. Bunker, as they sauntered off laughing.