“Don’t scold them, Beatrice,” the young professor intervened, “They probably came to see the moonlight on the water just as we did.” Then he added, “Young ladies, you will have to look for another algebra teacher next term for your Miss Piquilin and I are to be married in June.” “Oh—oh—I am so glad!” Becky gasped, then seizing us each by the hand she fled back to the school with Betsy and me in tow. We never knew what happened, but it didn’t matter, for surely all is well that ends well. The very next day Alice Barker went home for the rest of the year, and so Becky Hensley was admitted to membership in “The Lucky 13,” and wasn’t she the happiest girl? Goodbye, dear cow-girls! You’ll see me in two months and one week. Lovingly, your Babs. “Wasn’t that an interesting letter?” Virg said. “Good! Here comes Malcolm. Now we can tell him about Tom Wentworth.” CHAPTER XXXVIII A SUDDEN REALIZATION When Malcolm entered the ranch living-room, his sister Virginia told him of the newspaper article which they had discovered. “That’s great news!” he exclaimed, “We must convey it to the one most interested as soon as we can. Let me see. This is Tuesday. Perhaps by day after tomorrow I can arrange things here so that I can ride into Douglas. There I can telephone to the postoffice at Red Riverton and possibly get in touch with some one from the Wilson ranch.” “Oh brother! Two whole days! I could send a letter in less time than that,” Virginia protested. “But, of what use would a letter be if it were left lying in the postoffice for no one knows how long?” Margaret remarked. “Tom wrote, you remember, that their mail is not often called for.” “You are right,” Virginia agreed as she returned to her sewing, “but I am so impatient to have Tom learn this glorious news.” “But Sis, why are you so sure that the article refers to our Tom?” Malcolm asked as he glanced from the paper which he had been reading. “True, it does describe him and yet this same description would fit a dozen other fair young men. There is nothing unusual about it, and we have no reason to think that his last name is Wentworth, have we?” “Oh, Virg, we never told Malcolm about that letter, did we?” Margaret exclaimed, and then, turning to the curious lad, she explained about the scratched out name, the first initial of which had been faintly visible. “That does seem like almost conclusive evidence,” Malcolm declared. “Well, I sincerely hope that you are right,” he added, “for I liked Tom’s frank, pleasant face the moment I saw him on Second Peak with you girls and even after he had declared that he was an outlaw. I still liked and trusted him.” “Brother,” Virg said a few moments later as she dropped her sewing in her lap and looked up, “if Tom wishes to do so, may he return here and live with us? Before he left he told us that his week at V. M. had been the happiest bit of home life that he had had since his own mother died.”