“Oh Virg, what a pretty horse that red-brown one is. It looked up and neighed just as though it were trying to say ‘Good morning!’” Virginia was about to explain that the graceful, alert little horse to which Margaret referred was her own dear Comrade that had been given her by her father when it was a colt, but, before she could speak, she heard Malcolm saying: “Sister and I were looking over the mounts just now trying to decide which one we would give to you for your very own.” His ward turned toward him with eyes that glowed. “Oh, how kind you both are,” she exclaimed, appreciatively. “I would just love to have a pony all for my very own. May I choose any one that I wish?” The eager glance was questioning Virginia, and unhesitatingly that maiden smiling replied, “Yes, indeed, you may Megsy.” For a minute Margaret’s glance swept the pasture. “I just love that red-brown pony,” she said at last, “It reminds me of the one I had when I was a little girl.” Then as a sudden thought came to her, she added, “but which is the one that you ride, Virg?” The Western girl unhesitatingly replied: “I ride Star sometimes, the black and white wiry little fellow with the dark star on his forehead. You may have Comrade, if you like him best, to be your very own.” Malcolm, knowing how dearly his sister loved the pony that their father had given to her, was about to protest, but Virginia motioned him to be silent, then aloud she added, “Brother, will you ask Slim to bring the two ponies to the ranch house at nine? I want to return Grandmother Slater’s bombazine dress, and I am sure that Margaret will enjoy a ride across the desert.” Then arm in arm the two girls returned to the ranch house while the lad saddled his lively young broncho and rode away, waving his sombrero when they turned at the porch steps to watch him. “Now shall I unpack my trunk?” Margaret smiled up happily. “I must find my riding habit.” As she unpacked, Megsy kept watching for the kodak picture of Babs and her brother, Peyton, which she believed that she had tucked in somewhere but it was not discovered. “Well, it really doesn’t matter in the least,” the girl declared, as she smiled up at Virginia who sat on the ledge of the bed watching her. “I have a darling picture of Babs and we do not care what Peyton looks like.” Then diving into the depths of her trunk, she brought out a book filled with kodak pictures, and sitting beside her friend, Margaret turned the pages and told the story of each one. They were so interested that they had quite forgotten the hour until Virginia heard the galloping of horses’ feet, and springing up, she exclaimed, “Why, Megsy, it is 9 o’clock and we aren’t ready for our ride.” Then she called out of the open window, “Thank you, Slim, for bringing up the horses. You may leave them there. We’ll be out in short order.” Then turning to Margaret, she added, “What are you going to wear, Megsy?”