But what a man Rogeen was! She had believed there were such men so unobtrusively generous and chivalrous. But no one she had ever known before was quite like Bob Rogeen. She remembered the black hair that clustered thickly over his temples, and the whimsical twist of his mouth, and the reticent but unafraid brown eyes. She had thought many, many times of Rogeen, and always it seemed that he filled in just what was wanting in this desert--warmth of human fellowship. Always she thought of him just north over there--out of sight but very near. True he came very rarely. She wrinkled her forehead and rubbed the end of her nose with a forefinger. Why was that? Why didn't he come oftener? Wasn't she interesting? Didn't he approve of her? A reassuring warmth came up to her face and neck. Yes, she believed he did. His eyes looked it when he thought she was not noticing. [Illustration: Holy Joe shanghaies Imogene's ranchmen and discovers Percy--a willing ally.] She reached down and picked up a stick and threw it with a quick, impulsive gesture into the water and watched it float on down the ditch. Yes, she was pretty sure Rogeen liked her--but how much? Oh, well--she took a dozen girlish skips along the path, her hair flying about her face, and her heart dancing with the early sun on the green fields before her and the brown desert beyond--oh, well, time would tell. "Daddy," she had come up to where the little bald-headed man was plowing--throwing up the ridges, "don't you like spring?" The ex-professor stopped the team, looked at her through his glasses, then glanced around the field at the grass and weeds and early plants that were up. "I believe," he said, mildly, "that we are approaching the vernal equinox. But I had not observed before the gradual unfoldment of vegetation which we have come to associate in our minds with spring." "Oh, daddy, daddy," she laughed deliciously, and leaned over the handle of the plow and pulled his ear. "You funny, funny man. Why, it's spring, it's spring! Don't you feel it in your bones? Don't you love the whole world and everybody?" Professor Chandler seriously contemplated the skyline, where the sunlight showed red on the distant buttes. "I should say, daughter, that it does give one a feeling of kinship with nature. I fancy the early Greeks felt it." "I fancy they did," said Imogene, "especially if they were in love." "In love?" The professor brought his spectacles around to his daughter questioningly. "With everything," she said, laughing. "Daddy, I'm awfully glad we are back to the soil--instead of back to the Greeks." "I am not discontent with our environment." And the little professor plowed on. She smiled maternally at his back. And then two swift tears sprang to her eyes. Tender tears. "Dear old daddy. It has been good for him. He would have dried up and blown away in that little old college."