"Oh, I love these winds, Mr. Conrad! I know they blow sand into your eyes and pelt your face with gravel, but they make you feel so good! I always want to dance when I've been out in a wind like this for a minute or two." She took half a dozen dancing steps across the little lawn. "And they are so pure and sweet," she went on more seriously, "and make you feel so--so right that it seems as if they ought to blow all the wickedness out of one's mind." "Jiminy! I wonder if she heard what I said in there!" thought Conrad with inward panic. But he smiled down at her glowing young face and his eyes shone with admiration as he replied: "That is a beautiful theory, Miss Bancroft, but I'm afraid it doesn't pan out much in practice. It rather seems to me that most people who come to New Mexico have that sort of thing blown into them instead of out of them. As for myself," and he grinned broadly, "I can't say that I feel any increase in righteousness, no matter how much I waltz around in these zephyrs." "And you must have given them a fair trial, too!" she laughed back. "But you may make all the fun you like of my little pet theory, Mr. Conrad. I shall believe in it just the same, and like the country just as much." "No; she didn't hear, and, besides, she said she'd been asleep, so it's all right," thought Curtis with much relief, as he went on eagerly: "I'm glad you're pleased with us and our winds, so that you'll want to stay. I assure you, Miss Bancroft, you can't find such a superior quality of wind anywhere else in the United States." "Oh, I'm going to stay, not on account of the wind, but on account of my father, who, I assure you, Mr. Conrad, is the most superior quality of father to be found anywhere in the United States! I've been away from him so much that now I'm perfectly happy to be with him all the time. You see, when my dear mother died five years ago, father put me in a boarding-school, and afterward sent me to Chicago for a year to study music, and there I had that attack of typhoid fever that came so near to killing me. But I'm here with him at last, and I mean to stay. And I'm learning to ride now, Mr. Conrad, and father thinks I'm getting on very well; don't you, daddy?" She turned to her father, as he came beside them at the carriage wheel, with a fond smile and a touch of her hand upon his arm. "Oh, yes," he answered, returning her smile and patting her shoulder; "you are doing bravely, Lucy. You'll soon be scouring the plain like the heroine of a dime novel." "No New Mexican girl," said Conrad as he helped her into the carriage, "thinks she can really ride until she can rope a steer. If you're going to be such an enthusiastic New Mexican you'll have to learn tricks of that sort. Get your father to bring you out here some day, and I'll give you lessons in cowboy riding."