“And, Alec,” to a tall Scotchman, who had a wife and family in the nearest town, “I’m leaving my black Sampson and all his clothes to little David. You’ll take them when you go in Saturday night?” Alec beamed his thanks. “I wish you’d use Pedro all you can, Dick.” This to the young lad, who colored and smiled. “He gets sore if he isn’t used; and give him some sugar now and then for me. He’ll miss me at first.” She turned toward the farthest corner of the room where a man sat apart from the others—a man with a kind, almost sad face, upon the features of which the town saloon had left its mark. This was William, one of the best cattle hands in the county when he could keep away from town. To every one but Virginia he was “Bill,” but Virginia said he needed to be called William. “William,” she said, “if you kill any snakes, I wish you’d save me the rattles. I’m collecting them. And, if you have any time, I wish you’d plant some perennial things in the bed under my window, so they’ll bloom early in June. You choose whatever you like. It’ll be more fun not to know, and then see them all in blossom when I get home. Don’t you think it would be a good plan?” William’s tired face, on which were written the records of many hopes and failures, grew so bright with interest that he did not look like “Bill” at all. Moreover, he loved flowers. “Just the thing, Miss Virginia,” he said. “I’ll have it ready for you in June, and I won’t forget them rattles, either.” She thanked him. “And oh, Mr. Weeks,” she said, for she dignified the foreman by a title, “you won’t let father work too hard, will you? Because I shall worry if you don’t promise me.” So the delighted Mr. Weeks promised, while they all laughed. Then the men looked from one another to Jim with shy, embarrassed glances, as though they were waiting for something. Jim was equal to the occasion. “You, Joe and Dick, bring that box in front of the fire while I get up.” Joe and Dick, glad of something to do, obeyed, lifting the big box before the fire, while Virginia stared in surprise, and her father smiled, watching her. Jim, scorning assistance, had risen from his chair and stood facing his audience, but his eyes were on Virginia. “Miss Virginia,” he began, while the boys fumbled with their hats, “none of us ain’t forgot what you’ve been to us while you’ve been a-growin’ up. Some of us have been here a good while, and some ain’t been so long, but we’ve all been long enough to think a deal o’ you. You’ve always treated us like gentlemen, and we ain’t them that forget. This old ranch ain’t goin’ to seem the same without you, but we’re glad you’re goin’ to be educated in that school your mother went to, for those of us who knowed her, knowed a lady.