They all laughed at his joke, and then he gravely resumed. "I say I admire her, but it's a shame to ask such a girl to marry an invalid like you. Furthermore, I won't have her taken East. She'd bleach out and lose that grip in a year. I won't have her contaminated by the city." He mused deeply while looking at his son. "Would life on a wheat-ranch accessible to this hotel by motor-car be endurable to you?" "You mean with Berea?" "If she'll go. Mind you, I don't advise her to do it!" he added, interrupting his son's outcry. "I think she's taking all the chances." He turned to Mrs. McFarlane. "I'm old-fashioned in my notions of marriage, Mrs. McFarlane. I grew up when women were helpmates, such as, I judge, you've been. Of course, it's all guesswork to me at the moment; but I have an impression that my son has fallen into an unusual run of luck. As I understand it, you're all out for a pleasure trip. Now, my private car is over in the yards, and I suggest you all come along with me to California--" "Governor, you're a wonder!" exclaimed Wayland. "That'll give us time to get better acquainted, and if we all like one another just as well when we get back--well, we'll buy the best farm in the North Platte and--" "It's a cinch we get that ranch," interrupted Wayland, with a triumphant glance at Berea. "Don't be so sure of it!" replied the lumberman. "A private car, like a yacht, is a terrible test of friendship." But his warning held no terrors for the young lovers. They had entered upon certainties. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's The Forester's Daughter, by Hamlin Garland