John Spencer at forty-six was still a superb physical specimen, standing six feet two in his felt slippers. His face, so like, yet so unlike his son's, showed heavy lines from the nostril to the corner of the mouth. Beneath his eyes were faint pouches. The thick thatch of yellow hair had lost its yellow light and now was drab in tone. His flannel shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, showed a strong neck, and the rider's belt that circled the top of his blue denim pants outlined a waist as slim and hard as Doug's. He looked up. "What do you mean by coming in at this hour, you young hound?" "I think I might have Sunday afternoon to myself," said Douglas sulkily. "So do I. But that don't mean you are to have all Sunday night, too. Did you feed the calves?" "Yes." "Next Sunday you be here by five o'clock, understand?" "Yes." "Supper's ready!" called Judith. The table was covered by a red-checked cloth. A huge platter of fried beef, another of fried potatoes, another of baking-powder biscuits, and a pot of coffee steamed on the table. John did not speak until his first hunger had been satisfied. When he received his second cup of coffee, however, he said, "Well, my tooth's better. What happened this afternoon, children?" Judith did not reply, but Douglas, with a chuckle, told the story of Mr. Fowler's discomfiture. John and Mary shouted with laughter. "By old Sitting Bull, it serves him right!" John wiped his eyes. "What became of him?" "O, he beat it for the Pass!" replied Douglas. "What did you do after that?" inquired Mrs. Spencer. "We went up to the post-office to get Peter to let us have a dance, but there was nothing doing. He just gave us all a jaw because our horses were sweating." "I'll bet Swift was the worst off," chuckled John. "That's right! Pick on me!" cried Judith. "Judith! Be careful!" protested her mother. "Let her alone, Mary." John's blue eyes twinkled as he watched the young girl. "She's kept out of a row about as long as she can without choking." "Some day, when you least expect it," said Judith with a little quiver in her voice, "I'm going to run away." The others laughed. "Where to, Jude?" asked her stepfather. "To some place where folks like me." "I like you, Jude!" protested John. Judith turned to him quickly. "Why do you thrash me and kick me, then?" "Kids have to be trained, and you are as hard bitted as Buster," answered John. "No such thing!" Judith suddenly rose from the table. "It's just bad temper." "Judith! Judith! Don't!" pleaded her mother. "Let her alone!" John's voice was not angry. He was eying Judith with inscrutable gaze. "The next time you even try to kick me, I'm going to run away." She paused and suddenly Douglas thought, "Jude knows what real loneliness is. She's a very lonely person." He leaned forward and watched her with unwonted sympathy. She swallowed once or twice, and then went on: