But Mr. McLean happened to make a call quite early in the morning to inquire for his friend’s health. “Lin,” began the Virginian, “there is no harm in your knowing an hour or so before the rest, I am--” “Lord!” said Mr. McLean, indulgently. “Everybody has knowed that since the day she found yu’ at the spring.” “It was not so, then,” said the Virginian, crossly. “Lord! Everybody has knowed it right along.” “Hmp!” said the Virginian. “I didn’t know this country was that rank with gossips.” Mr. McLean laughed mirthfully at the lover. “Well,” he said, “Mrs. McLean will be glad. She told me to give yu’ her congratulations quite a while ago. I was to have ’em ready just as soon as ever yu’ asked for ’em yourself.” Lin had been made a happy man some twelve months previous to this. And now, by way of an exchange of news, he added: “We’re expectin’ a little McLean down on Box Elder. That’s what you’ll be expectin’ some of these days, I hope.” “Yes,” murmured the Virginian, “I hope so too.” “And I don’t guess,” said Lin, “that you and I will do much shufflin’ of other folks’ children any more.” Whereupon he and the Virginian shook hands silently, and understood each other very well. On the day that the Virginian parted with Molly, beside the weight of farewell which lay heavy on his heart, his thoughts were also grave with news. The cattle thieves had grown more audacious. Horses and cattle both were being missed, and each man began almost to doubt his neighbor. “Steps will have to be taken soon by somebody, I reckon,” said the lover. “By you?” she asked quickly. “Most likely I’ll get mixed up with it.” “What will you have to do?” “Can’t say. I’ll tell yu’ when I come back.” So did he part from her, leaving her more kisses than words to remember. And what was doing at Bennington, meanwhile, and at Dunbarton? Those three letters which by their mere outside had so moved Mrs. Taylor, produced by their contents much painful disturbance. It will be remembered that Molly wrote to her mother, and to her great-aunt. That announcement to her mother was undertaken first. Its composition occupied three hours and a half, and it filled eleven pages, not counting a postscript upon the twelfth. The letter to the great-aunt took only ten minutes. I cannot pretend to explain why this one was so greatly superior to the other; but such is the remarkable fact. Its beginning, to be sure, did give the old lady a start; she had dismissed the cow-boy from her probabilities. “Tut, tut, tut!” she exclaimed out loud in her bedroom. “She has thrown herself away on that fellow!”