Across the ravine, where the fringed blue gentian looked up from the sere grass, the cows were grazing, and Bud, from habit, went for them and brought them up to the bars. The sun was setting when Bud reached the Cavers's house, for he could not go without saying good-bye to Libby Anne. She was driving their two cows in from a straw stack, and called gaily to him when she saw him coming. "I've come to say good-bye, Lib," said Bud simply. "Where are you going?" she asked. "I don't know--anywhere to get away from here." Then he told her what had happened. "I'm glad you took a smash at Tom Steadman," she said, her big eyes flashing, when he had finished. Then suddenly she began to cry. "I don't want you to go," she sobbed. "You won't ever come back; I won't see you ever again." "Don't say that, Libby," Bud cried in real distress--she looked so little and pale in her black dress--"I will come back some time, and I won't forget my little girl. You're my girl, you know, Lib." "I'm your girl all right," the child said unsteadily. "But I want you to stay. I can't make up things like Pearl and Mary Watson can--I can do some pretendin' games pretty good now, but I can't pretend about you--I'll know you're gone all the time, Bud," and she caught her breath in a quivering sob. Then Bud lifted the little girl in his arms and kissed her over and over again. "Don't cry, Libby," he said. "I'm going away to make lots of money, and you mustn't fret. Every night I want you to say to yourself: 'I'm Bud's girl, and he won't forget me;' and whenever you get lonely or downhearted, just say that. Now Libby Anne, tell me who you are." "I'm Bud's girl, all right," she answered gravely. The sun had gone down in a crimson haze, and a misty tenderness seemed to brood over the world. The September evening was so full of peace and beauty with its muffled tinkle of cowbells and the soft song of the whippoorwill that came at intervals from the maple bush on Oak Creek, it was hard to believe that there were troubled hearts anywhere. The hoarse whistle of a long freight train on the C. P. R. boomed harshly through the quiet air. "I must go, Lib," said Bud. Libby Anne stood looking after him as he went quickly down the road. The evening twilight soon hid him from her sight, but she still looked down the winding road until it dipped down in the valley of Oak Creek. Suddenly from the river-bank came the weird cry of a prairie wolf, and Libby Anne, turning with a shudder, ran home in the gathering dusk. CHAPTER XXII AUTUMN DAYS There's a wonderful charm in the autumn days, When Earth to her rest is returning; When the hills are drowned in a purple haze, When the wild grape sweetens, and all in a blaze Of crimson the maples are turning. _----Helena Coleman._ WHEN autumn came to the Souris valley and touched the trees with crimson and gold, it found that some progress had been made on the farm that was getting its second chance.