"Then there aren't any oil wells here at all in Texas?" asked Cordelia, tearfully. "Bless you, yes, child--heaps of them! You'll see them, too, probably, before you leave the state. But--you won't see this one." "Oh, I'm so sorry," mourned Cordelia, again, as sadly she took the bit of paper back to her room. * * * * * It was not many days before the Happy Hexagons said good-by to the ranch--a most reluctant good-by. It was a question, however, which felt the worst: Mammy Lindy, weeping on the gallery steps, Mr. Tim and the boys, waving a noisy good-by from their saddles, or Mrs. Kennedy and the Happy Hexagons--the latter tearfully giving their Texas yell with "THE RANCH" for the final word to-day. "I think I never had such a good time in all my life," breathed Cordelia. "I know I never did," choked Tilly. "Genevieve, we can't ever begin to thank you for it all!" "I--I don't want you to," wailed Genevieve, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. "I reckon you haven't had any better time than I have!" Quentina was at the Bolo station; so, too, was Susie Billings. "O Happy Hexagons, Happy Hexagons, I just had to come," chanted Quentina, standing some distance away, and extending two restraining hands, palms outward. "Don't kiss me--don't come near me! I don't think I've got any whooping germs about me, but we want to be on the safe side." "But, Quentina, how are you? How are all of you?" cried Genevieve, plainly distressed. "I think it's just horrid--staying off at arm's length like this!" "But you must, dear," almost sobbed Quentina. "I wouldn't have you go through what we are going through with at home for anything. Such a whoop--whoop--whooping time!" "Couldn't you make a poem on it?" bantered Tilly. "I should think 'twould make a splendid subject--you could use such sonorous, resounding words." Quentina shook her head dismally. "I couldn't. I tried it once or twice; but all I could think of was 'Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound'; then somebody would cough, and I just couldn't get any further." Her voice was tragic in spite of its drawl. "You poor thing," sympathized Genevieve. "But we--we're glad to _see_ you, even for this little, and even if we can't _feel_ you! But, Quentina, you'll write--sure?" "Yes, I'll write," nodded Quentina, backing sorrowfully away. "Good-by, Happy Hexagons, good-by!" "So that is your Quentina?" said Mr. Hartley in a low voice, as the girls were waving their hands and handkerchiefs. "Well, she _is_ pretty." "Oh, but she wasn't half so pretty to-day," regretted Genevieve. "She looked so thin and tired. I wanted to introduce you, Father, but I didn't know how to--so far away." "I should say not," laughed Mr. Hartley. "'Twould have been worse than your high handshake back East," he added, as he turned to speak to Susie Billings, who had come up at that moment.