Luck gave the wheel a twist, cut a fine curve around the windmill and stopped before the house with as near a flourish as a seven-passenger automobile loaded from tail-lamp to windshield can possibly approach. “There. That's the way I've been used to seeing cars behave,” Luck observed pointedly to the deposed chauffeur as he slammed the door open and climbed out. “You don't have to act like you're a catepillar on a rail fence, to play safe. I believe in keeping all four wheels on the ground--but I like to see 'em turn once in awhile. You get me?” He peeled a five-dollar banknote off a roll the size of his wrist, handed it to the impressed chauffeur and dismissed the transaction with a wave of his gloved hand. “You're all right, brother,” he tempered his criticism, “but I'm some nervous about automobiles.” “I noticed that myself,” drawled a soft, humorous voice from the rear. “This is the nearest I ever came to traveling by telegraph.” Luck grinned, waved his hand in friendly greeting to the Happy Family who were taking long steps up from the corral, and turned his attention to the unloading of the machine. “Howdy, folks!--guess yuh thought I'd plumb lost the trail back,” he called to them over his shoulder while he dove after suitcases, packages of various sizes and shapes, a box or two which the Happy Family recognized as containing “raw stock,” and a camera tripod that looked perfectly new. From the congested tonneau a tall, slim young woman managed to descend without stepping on anything that could not bear being stepped upon. She gave her skirts a little shake, pushed back a flying strand of hair and turned her back to the machine that she might the better inspect her immediate surroundings. Old Dave Wiswell, the dried little man who never had much to say, peered at her sharply, hesitated and then came forward with his bony hand outstretched and trembling with eagerness. “Why, my gorry! If it ain't Jean Douglas, my eyes are lyin' to me,” he cried. “It isn't Jean Douglas--but don't blame your eyes for that,” said the girl, taking his hand and shaking it frankly. “Jean Douglas Avery, thanks to the law that makes a girl trade her name for a husband. You know Lite, of course--dad, too.” “Well, well--my gorry I I should say I do! Howdy, Aleck?” He shook the hand of the old man Jean called dad, and his lips trembled uncertainly, seeking speech that would not hurt a very, very sore spot in the heart of big Aleck Douglas. “I'm shore glad to meet yuh again,” he stuttered finally, and let it go at that “And how are yuh, Lite? Just as long and lanky as ever--marriage shore ain't fattened you up none. My gorry! I shore never expected to see you folks away down here!”