Jim flashed his charming smile on her. "Bless you, Mother Flynn! I know it's a hundred years since you've told me what God knows! I'll have a bath and go down to the office. I've had nothing to eat since morning." This last very sadly. It had the expected effect on Mrs. Flynn, whose idea of purgatory was of a place where one had to miss an occasional meal. She groaned: "Leave me into the kitchen! At six o'clock exactly there will be fried chicken on this table!" Mrs. Flynn made breathlessly for the kitchen pausing at the door to call back: "And how's your mother and your Uncle Denny? I've been doing the best I can for your company. They ate stuff I took 'em only the first day, then she went to housekeeping." "Thank you," said Jim, absently. He went into his bedroom. This, too, was uncolored. It was a simple little room with only a cot, a bureau and a chair in it. The walls were bare except for the little old photograph of Pen in her tennis clothes. In half an hour Jim had splashed in and out of his bath, was shaved and clad in camp regalia; a flannel shirt, Norfolk coat and riding breeches of tan khaki, leather puttees and a broad-brimmed Stetson. At his office awaiting him were his engineer associates and Iron Skull, and he put in a long two hours with them, his mind far less on the flood and the Hearing than on the fact that Penelope was waiting for him, up in the little tent house. It was not quite eight o'clock when Jim stood before the tent house, waiting for courage to rap. Suddenly he heard Sara's voice. "I won't have women coming up here to snoop! Understand that, Pen, right now. Hand me the paper and be quick about it." Jim felt himself stiffened as he listened for Pen's voice in answer. CHAPTER XII THE TENT HOUSE "Leave Old Jezebel to herself and she soon returns to old ways. She likes them best for she is a woman." MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT. Pen's voice, when it came, was lower and fuller than he had remembered it but there was the old soft chuckle in it. "Cross patch! Draw the latch! Say please, like a nice child and then I'll play a game of cards with you." Jim rapped on the door and stepped in. "Hello, Pen!" he said, holding out his hand. She was changed and yet unchanged. A little thinner, older, yet more beautiful in her young womanhood than in her charming girlhood. Her chestnut hair was wrapped in soft braids around her head instead of being bundled up in her neck. Her eyes looked larger and deeper set but they were the same steady, clear eyes of old; ageless eyes; the eyes of the woman who thinks. She had the same full soft lips, and as Jim held out his hand the same flash of dimples. "Hello, Still! The mountains have come to Mahomet!" "And a poor welcome I gave you," replied Jim. "Hello, Sara."