Only one small cloud had appeared on the horizon. Jack had not shared with her his confidences in the business of the ranch. He told her he did not want to worry her with such cares. True, there were times when he was deeply abstracted; but in her presence his moroseness vanished quickly. Carefully as he had tried to hide his secret, she had, with a woman's intuition, seen beneath the surface of things and realized that something was lacking to complete her happiness. As Echo turned toward home a song sprang to her lips. Polly spied her far down the trail. "Boys, she's coming," she shouted to the men, who were at the bunk-house awaiting Mrs. Payson's return. As they passed the corral they called to Jack and Allen to join them in the living-room to prepare for the surprise for Echo. The party quickly reassembled. "Good land!" shouted Allen, "get something to cover the pianny with!" The punchers rushed in confusion about the room in a vain search. "Ain't there a plagued thing we can cover the pianny with?" cried the demoralized Allen, renewing his appeal. Polly came to the rescue of the helpless men by plucking a Navajo blanket from the couch. Tossing one end of it to Show Low, she motioned to him to help hold it up before the instrument like a curtain. "Stand in front of it, everybody," ordered Mrs. Allen, who had left her cake-baking and hurried in from the kitchen. "Polly, spread your skirts--you, too, Jim." Allen ran in front of the piano, holding out an imaginary dress in imitation of Polly. "Which I ain't got none," he cried. Parenthesis jumped in front of the piano-stool, trying vainly to hide it with his legs. "Parenthesis, put your legs together," Mrs. Allen cried. "I can't, ma'am," wailed the unfortunate puncher. He fell on his knees before the stool, spreading out his waistcoat for a screen. Mrs. Allen helped him out with her skirts. "Steady, everybody!" shouted Jack. "Here she is!" yelled Sage-brush, as the door opened and the astonished Echo faced those she loved and liked. Echo made a pretty picture framed in the doorway. She wore her riding-habit of olive-green--from the hem of which peeped her soft boots. Her hat, broad, picturesque, typical of the Southwest, had slipped backward, forming a background for her pretty face. An amused smile played about the corners of her mouth. "Well, what is it?" she smiled inquiringly. The group looked at her sheepishly. No one wanted to answer her question. "What's the matter?" she resumed. "You're herded up like a bunch of cows in a norther." Sage-brush began gravely to explain. He got only as far as: "This yere bein' a birthday," when Echo interrupted him: "Oh! then it's a birthday-party?"