Mr. Graham was obliged to ride some distance to another ranch that afternoon, in order to see a man on business, and it was late in the evening when he returned, and found his old classmate waiting for him on the porch. "Well, and how are things going?" he inquired cheerfully, when Jim had taken away his horse. "I trust our little friend is better." "She is much better, thank you," Dr. Randolph answered. "She is fast recovering from the shock, and I hope we may be able to start for home by the day after to-morrow. Her mother must be told as soon as possible, and Barbara herself can scarcely wait to get home. I am going to make arrangements to leave on the first available train for the East and--Graham, I want to ask you a favor." "I am sure I shall be glad to do anything in my power," Mr. Graham said, smiling; "what is it?" "I want you to let me take your wife and sister back to New York with us." "My wife and sister!" repeated Mr. Graham in amazement. "Why, my dear boy, my poor sister hasn't left her wheeled-chair for eight years. I am sure that she could not stand such a journey." "I think she could," said the doctor, quietly. "I should take a compartment for her, of course, and she could lie down during the whole trip. As for the drive to the station, I think that could also be managed without much discomfort. She tells me she often takes fairly long drives with you and your wife. Barbara is still very much shaken, and will need a woman's care on the journey. Your wife can be of great assistance to us, and as to your sister--well, the fact is, Graham, I made an examination this afternoon, with her and Mrs. Graham's consent, and I see no reason why an operation cannot be performed. I can't promise an absolute cure, but I have strong hopes." Mr. Graham did not speak, but he grasped his old friend's hand in gratitude too deep for words, and the doctor went away well satisfied, to carry the good news to his niece and nephew. "Oh, how happy Marjorie will be!" cried Barbara, with sparkling eyes. "When she wrote me that she had met a great surgeon, but would never have the courage to speak to him about her aunt, how little either of us dreamed--oh, what a wonderful, beautiful thing it all is! To think that in five days I shall be with Mother. You don't think the shock will make her ill, do you, Uncle George?" "I hope not, dear, but we must be very careful how the news is broken to her. Now I want Beverly to go to bed, and you must try to sleep, too, Barbara, for you will need all your strength for the journey, and the meeting with your mother."