"Going to turn cowboy, Miss Cordelia?" asked Mr. Hartley, with a smile, as he met the girl coming into the house a little later. Mr. Hartley, in his broad-brimmed hat, and his gray tweed trousers tucked into his high boots, looked the picture of the prosperous ranchman at home. Cordelia showed a distinctly shocked face. "Oh, no, sir!" she cried. "Don't think you could learn to swing the rope--eh?" he teased. "Mercy, no!" A half-proud, wholly-gratified smile crossed the man's face. "It isn't as easy as it looks to be," he said. "Once in a while we get a tenderfoot out here, though, who thinks he's going to learn it all in a minute--or, rather, do it without any learning. But to be a good roper, one has to give it long, hard practice. The best of 'em begin young. Reddy, the crack roper in my outfit, tells me he began with his mother's clothes-line at the age of four years, with his rocking-horse for a victim. It seems there was a picture in one of his books of a cowboy roping a pony, and--" Mr. Hartley stopped, as if listening. From the rear of the house had sounded the creak of the windmill crank. The man turned, entered the hall, and crossed to the window. Then he shook his head with a smile. "I'm afraid Genevieve is up to her old tricks," he said. "She's stopping the windmill so she can climb to the top of the tower, I reckon." "Genevieve!--at the top of that tower!" exclaimed Cordelia. Mr. Hartley's lips twitched. "Yes. That used to be a daily stunt of hers, and--I let her," added the man, a little doggedly. "It made her well and strong, anyhow, and helped to develop her muscle. You see, we--we don't have gymnasiums on the ranch," he concluded whimsically, as they stepped together out on to the back gallery. A babel of gleeful shouts and laughter greeted their ears. A moment later Mr. Hartley and Cordelia came in sight of the windmill. At its base four chattering, shrieking girls were laughing and clapping their hands. Above their heads, Genevieve, in a dark blue gymnasium suit, was swinging herself gracefully from cross-piece to cross-piece in the tower. "You see," smiled Mr. Hartley; but he was interrupted by a shocked, frightened voice behind him. "Genevieve, my dear!" gasped Mrs. Kennedy, hurrying forward. Genevieve did not hear, apparently. To the girls she waved a free hand, joyously. She was almost at the top. "It's fine--mighty fine up here," she caroled. "I can see 'way, 'way over the prairie!" "Genevieve! Genevieve Hartley, come down this instant," commanded Mrs. Kennedy. Then her voice shook, and grew piteously frightened, as she stammered: "No, no--don't come down, dear! Genevieve, how _can_ you come down?" Mrs. Kennedy was wringing her hands now. This time Genevieve heard. "Why, Aunt Julia, what is it? What is the matter?" The girl's voice expressed only concerned surprise. "What is the matter?" echoed Mrs. Kennedy, faintly. "Genevieve, how can you come down?"