When Jean Sawyer took his departure that afternoon, Dan accompanied him part way "cross-lots," as the former lad had called it. They crossed the brook and after climbing many a jagged boulder, began the descent on the side of the mountain nearest the wide valley in which was located the fertile Packard ranch. These two lads, so near of an age, found that they were most congenial. When Dan confessed that his dearest desire was to become a writer of purpose fiction, Jean heartily applauded. "Great! I'd give anything if I had the ability to do something fine for this old world of ours, but, just at present, I believe I will continue being Mr. Packard's foreman. Really, Dan, reading and studying with that man is as good as having a post-graduate course at college." Then apropos of nothing (or so it seemed), Jean said: "What a beautiful girl your sister is. What a pity that she has not had the love and direction of a mother. I had such a wonderful mother myself, Dan, I well know what girls and boys have missed when they lost their mothers while they were very young." Dan grew serious at once. Then he confessed: "Jean, I feel as though I had known you for a long time, and so I am going to tell you my greatest problem. My sister Jane is beautiful, and before she went away to that fashionable Highacres Seminary she was as sweet and lovable a girl as any you could find, but for some reason she learned there much that was not in the curriculum. Pride of family, snobbishness, and because of our father's position, many of her companions were so deferential to her that she has come to expect it from everyone. How I wish I knew how to save Jane from herself." It was just as Jean had feared. He surprised himself by saying: "If she would chum with Meg Heger a while, I believe it would help her to overcome those artificially acquired qualities, for Meg is sincerely natural. But your sister would have to make the advances. Meg never will. She keeps apart by herself, and will probably continue doing so until it is proven that she is not that Ute Indian's daughter. I know that you have met Meg, for I overheard your little sister saying that you had been there this morning." "Yes, we were. The children pleaded so hard that I go and see their baby lions." Then he told the story of the death of the mother lion to an interested listener. "I wondered why Meg Heger disappeared directly after having saved my life. Nor would she come to her home while she know that I was there. It is too bad that she shuts herself away from people who would gladly be her friends."