Blushing and scraping, Jami and Russell got out their mandolin and guitar and, after some tuning and picking, began--Russell in a surprisingly sweet light tenor, and Jami in a disconcerting voice that was trying to be a deep baritone, and would be, when he grew to full manhood. A stirring cowboy ballad, an epic of frontier days; _The Cattle Rustler’s Daughter_, a mournful ditty with the tender passion which strikes the sentimental cowboy--Russell and Jami warbled them all feelingly. Then the soft-eyed Angel, sitting back of the others, and plucking a vibrant guitar, sang _La Paloma_ and _Sobre Las Olas_ (_Over the Waves_), so beautiful a barcarole that Mom rocked in her chair in time, Dad’s foot waved, and every one swayed to the air. Home again. Raquel, sitting beside her mother, was seeing it all with new eyes. Yet everything was the same. Oh, it was dear; close to her--yes, that was it. There was Mom; her plain hair, combed straight back, her calico dress, her silent ways. Of course she could see now the difference between Mom and a woman like Mrs. Marvin. The difference in the things she had had! What Mom had gone without all these years! Yet she was sweet, sweet. Almost a pang of jealousy for Mom swept over Raquel. Who would change Mom for anything? And what would Los Ranchos be without Mom? Why, the whole range centered round Mom in her kitchen, and every trail led straight back home. And Dad, he was just as she had always seen him when she shut her eyes--and heard him talking as he was now. You loved Dad--and obeyed him. Of course you couldn’t do anything with him when he’d made up his mind. Raquel began to realize dimly that there was prejudice in the opinions she’d always accepted as gospel. But he was big; there was nothing petty about Dad. The eyes of his mind saw things from afar just as his eagle blue eyes, accustomed to distances, saw across the mesas, detecting the true water hole from the mirage. Tonight it all seemed more like real living, happier even than on that far-off day when she had left for school. Yet how different it was from life back there! Why, back there Ole Hossfoot would never get any further than the garage door. He’d never get to set a foot inside the parlor. And nobody would ever know what a wonderful hand with horses he was, nor hear his good stories, nor go to him for advice on almost any subject, for if he didn’t know about it first hand he’d be sure to have read about it when it was first invented ’way back the year of the World’s Fair. Jimmy was the one unchanged quantity, the only person that linked up with that other world, her new knowledge of which had laid a claim on her. Some day, of course, she’d like to have some things different at Los Ranchos, now since she’d been _back there_. Jimmy could understand. And yet he “wouldn’t go back there now to live if he could.” Raquel turned suddenly to him with a shy smile of mutual understanding. Jimmy smiled back and reached out to pat her hand.