Again Malcolm’s amused laughter rang out. “It will be better not to let Uncle Tex know that we have designs upon him,” he said, “for, if he has an inkling, even, that we are going to request him to do a bit of ‘play actin’ as he would call it, he will start at once for the mountain cabin, the location of which we have never been able to discover.” Their low rambling ranch house having been reached, Virginia leaped to the ground, tossing the reins to her brother, who, still chuckling to himself, rode on down to the corral where an old, white-haired man could be seen repairing a fence. CHAPTER II MARGARET Barbara Blair Wente in the Vine Haven Seminary looked up from the cosy window seat where she was comfortably curled, studying French verbs, when she heard the door open. It was Margaret Selover, her room-mate, who entered. “Megsy,” Babs exclaimed with real concern as she sprang to her feet and approached her friend with hands outstretched, “what has happened, dear? Are the algebra reports in and didn’t you pass, or, is it something else?” The newcomer looked at Barbara with eyes tear-brimmed. She tried to speak but her lips quivered; then, flinging herself down upon the couch, she sobbed as though her heart would break. Babs, deeply concerned, knelt by the side of her room-mate, and tenderly smoothing the gold-brown curls, she pleaded. “Tell me, Megsy darling, can’t I help?” Impulsively Margaret sat up, and, putting her arms about her friend she sobbed. “Oh Babs, I can’t do it! I won’t do it! I did think that my dad loved me too much to punish me so.” “Can’t, won’t do what?” Barbara sat on the couch and drew her room-mate comfortingly close. “Megsy, please begin at the beginning.” Margaret put her hand in a pocket of her rose-colored sweater-coat and drew out a crumpled letter. “It’s from some-one way out on that terrible Arizona desert,” she said, “and it informs me that my father appointed a Mr. Davis as my guardian and that the elderly gentleman, having given the matter due thought, believes that it is time for me to come to his home and take the place that my father wished me to occupy, that of a rancher’s adopted daughter.” Barbara gazed at her friend, almost unable to comprehend. “Megsy, does this mean that you and I are to be parted? That you are to leave Vine Haven Seminary forever?” For a brief moment Margaret sat as though stunned, but her room-mate’s words roused her to action. Springing up in a sudden tempest of anger, she tore across the room, threw open the desk and began to write rapidly. “There!” she exclaimed a few moments later. “I have written my answer.” “Read it,” Barbara begged, and in a hard cold voice, very unlike her own, that was merry and musical, Margaret read: “My Dear Mr. Davis:—