“They was a-sprucin’ up when I left the bunk-house, kind o’ reckonin’ on your sayin’ to come along. Beats all how walkin’ with a stick takes your wind.” He was still breathing hard. Virginia watched him anxiously. “Jim,” said Mr. Hunter, after a pause, “I wish you’d look out for the place to-morrow. I’ve some matters in town to attend to after taking Virginia in for the train, and it may be late when I get back. A man from Willow Creek thought he’d be around this week to look at some sheep. I’m thinking of selling one hundred or so of that last year lot, and I’ll leave the choice and price to your judgment.” “All right, sir.” This helped matters considerably. Jim himself had decided that he could not go upon the range, but here was afforded a valid excuse to give the boys. His tired face brightened. “And, Jim,” continued Virginia, eagerly, “I almost forgot to tell you. Don and I spied Bess and the colt to-day on the lower range, not two miles from the corral. The colt’s black like Bess, and a darling! Don’t hurt it any more than you can help when you brand it, will you, Jim? Does it hurt much, do you suppose?” “Sho’ now, don’t you worry, Miss Virginia. You see, brandin’s like most other things that don’t hurt nearly so much as you think they’re goin’ to. It ain’t bad after a minute. I’ll be careful of the little fellow. Here come the boys.” Five stalwart forms passed the window and came to the porch, cleaning their feet carefully upon the iron mud-scraper screwed to the side of the lowest step for that very purpose. Then, a little embarrassed, they filed up the steps and into the house, the two last bearing between them a large box which they placed near the door. They were hardy men, used to a rough life, of ages varying from young Dick Norton, who was eighteen and a newcomer, to John Weeks, the foreman, a man of fifty. Roughly dressed though they were, in flannel shirts and knee-boots, they were clean, having, as Jim said, “spruced up” for the occasion. For a moment they stood ill at ease, sombreros in their hands, but only for a moment, for Mr. Hunter found them chairs, talking meanwhile of the round-up, and Virginia ran to the kitchen to ask Hannah for cider and gingerbread. “Come in yourself, Hannah,” she said to the kind soul, who sat by the spotless pine table, knitting busily; and she begged until Hannah changed her apron and joined the circle about the fire. “Joe,” said Virginia to a big man of thirty, whose feet worried him because they demanded so much room. “Joe, you’ll keep an eye on the littlest pup, won’t you? He has a lump in his throat, and the others pick on him. I wish you’d rub the lump with liniment; and don’t forget to tell me how he is.” Joe promised. If the service had been for the Queen, he could not have been more honored.