"Oh, dear. And you, too," laughed Nan. "We can't leave you out of the picture. Being of more mature years I guess you'd sweep in--that's the way--sweep in gowned--at your age you don't dance around in 'frocks'--in something swell, and rich, and of sober hue. Oh, dear, oh, dear. Guess we'd have to match your mahogany face. Wine color, eh? No 'cute little bows for you. Just beads and bugles, whatever they are. But we'd let you play around with some tinted mixing of powder for your nose, or--or we'd sure spoil the picture to death. My, I'd die laughing." Bud's amusement threatened to burst the white bonds which held his vast neck. "Oh, quit it, Nan," he cried, with his beaming face rapidly purpling. Then he struggled for seriousness. "I didn't get around to listen to your foolin', child." Then he bestirred himself to a great display of parental admonishment. "Now, see right here, Nan, I'll get back in an hour. Maybe Jeff's fixin' himself the way you said. I can't jest say. But anyways he's the big feller to-night, an' it's up to you to worry out so you can be a credit to him, an' me, an' the 'Obar.'" Then he came across to her and took her affectionately by the shoulders, and gazed down into her face with twinkling, kindly eyes. "Say, you got more to work on than most gals. You sure have, Nan. Yep. Your poor ma was a pictur', an' you're a pictur'. An' I ain't goin' to say which of you had claim for the best framing. Anyway, what you have in your pretty face you owe to the dear woman who never had a chance of the framing you can have. So jest remember it, Nan--and thank her." Nan's eyes had completely sobered at the mention of her dead mother, whom she scarcely remembered, and earnestness and affection replaced all her mirth. "Maybe I owe it her," she said, suddenly releasing herself from the heavy hands, and rising from her seat. Then she reached up and slipped her soft arms about the man's neck. "And what do I owe to you? Nothing? Ah, my Daddy, I guess you can shake your funny head till you muss up its contents to an addle. I'll not forget what I owe my momma, and just thank her all I know, but I'm thanking you too--just as hard." She tiptoed until she was able to kiss him on the cheek. Then her ready smile broke out afresh, and she gently pushed him toward the door. "Who is it wasting my time? There," she cried, as she opened the door, and her father vanished through it, "get right out, and don't you dare come back for an hour." The ranchman's laugh echoed down the corridor as he moved away. Then Nan, practical and sober once more, closed the door and rang for the chambermaid. * * * * * * Whatever success could be claimed for the men who had founded and built up the "Obar" Ranch, and it was more than considerable, the triumph of that night was in no small measure to the credit of Nan Tristram.