"Say, now," begged Garnett, "don't you go to figgerin'! When Biane skipped the country, didn't that turn my hundred tons back on me? Well, I guess. And what was I goin' to do with it when I hadn't a critter of my own to feed, chiefly when I knew you folks was wearin' out the roads huntin' hay?--And what's easier and doin' better for us all than for Rob and me to feed together here on my ranch; and you, mebbe, to cook for us once in a while,--and me to take my wages in calves next spring,--or any old time like that; in case you took a notion to feed here next winter,--and me to put mine in with yours, and all of us graze together up to your homestead,--ranch that is, I mean, in summer and--next winter,--next winter,--Aw! What's the use of all this talkin'? It's all right, ain't it?" Red to his ears, the forest ranger clutched his hat with a hard hand and stared down at the girl beside him, something unsaid held back in a sudden spasm of shyness. Before Harry could answer the front door opened behind them and Isita, who had been exploring by herself looked out. "Now that we're home, Miss Harry," she said, "couldn't I set the table for supper? There's a beautiful set of china dishes in the cupboard." Harry turned to Garnett, the familiar roguish gleam in her face. "If I am going to live here, Mr. Skinflint Garnett," she began lightly, "I'll expect to use those dishes--" her voice trailed off, the bright, brave scarlet swept into her face, then as swiftly fled. Garnett said not a word. His eyes were on hers and in them was a look, a light. She had seen it there before but now she understood what it meant. She tried to take a steady breath, she hunted words,--"those dishes. Shall I start breaking them in now?" Brave as the words were how her voice shook! "Say, Harry--" How queer and deep and soft Garnett's voice was. He had thrown down his hat and stood there, shaking yet determined, his fists clenched at his sides. "Harry?... You reckon you could----" "What, Chris?" The plunge of her heart was like the gallop of a frightened colt. "--You reckon you could take me with 'em, with them dishes, break me in with 'em for yours?... Little girl?" Her lips moved but no sound came from them. Yet he read her answer in her eyes and it must have satisfied him because he bent his head to hers and for an instant he held her. Then he took her hand. "Come along. Let's take a look at the winter half of this Homestead Ranch of ours." THE END End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Homestead Ranch, by Elizabeth G. Young