“You needn’t tell it,” he said sharply, “we know—don’t we, Mammy? It’s Brand——” “Sure, we know, Nance, honey,” said Mrs. Allison gently, “an’ we want to tell you, Bud an’ I, how plumb happy we are—how glad we are to see happiness come to the best daughter, the best sister, two people ever had on this here earth. Ain’t we, Buddy?” The boy swallowed once, then looked at Nance and smiled. It was not the least courageous thing he was ever to accomplish, that smile, and his mother knew it, for he adored the girl, and she had been his only playmate all his life. But at his mother’s subtle words jealousy died and love stepped back triumphantly. “We sure are, Sis,” he said and kissed her on the cheek. The child slept late that morning. Perhaps he had been more or less disturbed by Nance’s wakefulness. She stepped to the bedroom door once and looked at him, but left him there. “We might as well sit down,” she said, “he’s fast asleep yet and I can feed him when he does get up.” They talked gaily all through the meal, reviewing the wonder that had come to Nance, and it seemed a new future was opening before them all. “Brand seems like one of us already,” said Mrs. Allison, “an’ I think with joy what a help he’ll be to you an’ Bud—th’ land is rich an’ will keep us all in plenty with a man like him to manage an’ to stand between us an’ Sky Line. An’ he’s like your Pappy was—kind an’ still, a strength an’ a hope for us. If Bud is willin’ we’ll offer him share an’ share.” “Sure,” said the boy decidedly. When he had once capitulated Bud stood firm, wholeheartedly backing his decision. “I just don’t seem able to grasp it all,” said Nance happily, “it seems like our whole life has changed overnight. There is light where darkness was, hope again where I’d about given it up—and now we’ll never have to give up Sonny.” “That’s so!” cried Mrs. Allison, “an’ I hadn’t thought of that. Never seemed like we would any way—bless him.” “Me?” asked a fresh little voice from the doorway, and the child stood there, rumple-headed, in his small night-gown made from flour-sacks. The faded red lettering still stood frankly out across his diminutive stomach. “Yes—you,” said Nance, “come here to your own Nance.” Sonny sidled in, holding up the hindering garment with one hand, the other shut over some small article. As Nance lifted him to her lap he laid this on the table’s edge. “See,” he said, “the pretty lady. She was in a bundle on your bed—where’d you get her, Nance?” And Nance Allison looked down into the pictured face of—Cattle Kate Cathrew. For a moment the laughter still drew her lips, the soft light of happiness still illumined her eyes. Then the light and the laughter were erased from her features as if an invisible hand had wiped them. In their place came first a blankness, an incredulity—then, as realization and memory struck home to her brain, the anguish of death itself swept across her face.