"Your complexion indicates that," his father responded, dryly. "You look something the way a man of your age ought to look. I needn't ask how you're feeling." "You needn't, but you may. I'm feeling like a new fiddle--barring a bruise at the back of my head, which makes a 'hard hat' a burden. I may as well tell you first off that Mrs. McFarlane is the wife of the Forest Supervisor at Bear Tooth, and Miss Berea is the able assistant of her father. We are all rank conservationists." Norcross, Senior, examined Berrie precisely as if his eyes were a couple of X-ray tubes, and as she flushed under his slow scrutiny he said: "I was not expecting to find the Forest Service in such hands." Wayland laughed. "I hope you didn't mash his fingers, Berrie." She smiled guiltily. "I'm afraid I did. I hope I didn't hurt you--sometimes I forget." Norcross, Senior, was waking up. "You have a most extraordinary grip. What did it? Piano practice?" Wayland grinned. "Piano! No--the cinch." "The what?" Wayland explained. "Miss McFarlane was brought up on a ranch. She can rope and tie a steer, saddle her own horse, pack an outfit, and all the rest of it." "Oh! Kind of cowgirl, eh?" Mrs. McFarlane, eager to put Berrie's better part forward, explained: "She's our only child, Mr. Norcross, and as such has been a constant companion to her father. She's not all cow-hand. She's been to school, and she can cook and sew as well." He looked from one to the other. "Neither of you correspond exactly to my notions of a forester's wife and daughter." "Mrs. McFarlane comes from an old Kentucky family, father. Her grandfather helped to found a college down there." Wayland's anxious desire to create a favorable impression of the women did not escape the lumberman, but his face remained quite expressionless as he replied: "If the life of a cow-hand would give you the vigor this young lady appears to possess, I'm not sure but you'd better stick to it." Wayland and the two women exchanged glances of relief. "Why not tell him now?" they seemed to ask. But he said: "There's a long story to tell before we decide on my career. Let's finish our lunch. How is mother, and how are the girls?" Once, in the midst of a lame pursuit of other topics, the elder Norcross again fixed his eyes on Berea, saying: "I wish my girls had your weight and color." He paused a moment, then resumed with weary infliction: "Mrs. Norcross has always been delicate, and all her children--even her son--take after her. I've maintained a private and very expensive hospital for nearly thirty years." This regretful note in his father's voice gave Wayland confidence. His spirits rose. "Come, let's adjourn to the parlor and talk things over at our ease."