“I might as well skim it over,” she thought, “and then I can tell Malcolm about it and he will not need to take the time to read it.” Dropping down into a comfortable cushioned wicker chair out on the veranda, Virginia leisurely opened it. Her thoughts were wandering when she began to read, but suddenly she sat erect and stared at the typed page. Then she re-read it slowly from the beginning to be sure that she had really understood its purport. Shags, the big collie dog, lying nearby, half dozing in the sun was startled to see his mistress leap to her feet and tear madly down the trail toward the corral. Believing that he might miss something of unusual interest if he did not follow, he raced after, barking and bounding. Malcolm looked up in surprise. “Ho Sis,” he called, “had you overlooked a postscript in our ward’s letter? Is she coming after all?” Then noting how pale was his sister’s face, he hastened to her side. “It’s a letter from Mr. Benton, our father’s lawyer. I don’t understand business matters as you do, and perhaps I do not rightly comprehend the meaning of this. I sincerely hope I do not.” But Virginia had rightly understood. Mr. Denton, their lawyer in Douglas had written: “Dear young friends:— “This morning a letter was received by me that you may be able to interpret better than I can. I did not know that your father had been appointed guardian of a girl named Margaret Selover, but the letter which I have this day received from an eastern law firm informs me that the income which has been sent, since her father’s death, to this young girl, has been abruptly discontinued as the mines from which it is derived are no longer paying. “Since Miss Selover is referred to as your father’s ward, I presume that she is residing with you, and so I thought best to communicate with you at once. “Trusting that the deprivation will be but temporary, “I remain, “Your faithful friend and adviser, “Harry L. Benton.” “Which means?” Virginia’s tone was one of inquiry. “Which means that we will have to lasso that young tornado and bring her here, whether or not she wishes to come,” was the dismal reply, “for surely, you and I, Virg, cannot afford to pay Miss Selover’s tuition at a fashionable seminary.” “No, we cannot,” his sister agreed, then—“Shall I write to poor Margaret and tell her the sad news?” “I think the ones to be pitied are Virginia and Malcolm,” the lad spoke vehemently, “but, there is no alternative. Write the letter and I’ll take it to Silver Creek Junction. I’m going that far right after lunch to help drive in the yearlings.” A week later another letter bearing the Vine Haven postmark arrived on the desert. With a heavy heart Virginia opened it, and after a hurried perusal, she decided that “lassoing the young tornado” as her brother had called their ward, was not to be a pleasant pastime. “My dear Mr. Davis,” she read: