flourished up and insensibly grew as she rode on. It grew until
sight of a little ragged Mexican boy astride the most diminutive
burro she had ever seen awakened her to the truth. She became
conscious of faint, unmistakable awakening of long-dead feelings--
enthusiasm and delight. When she realized that, she breathed
deep of the cold, sharp air and experienced an inward joy. And
she divined then, though she did not know why, that henceforth
there was to be something new in her life, something she had
never felt before, something good for her soul in the homely, the
commonplace, the natural, and the wild.

Meanwhile, as Madeline gazed about her and listened to her
companions, the sun rose higher and grew warm and soared and grew
hot; the horses held tirelessly to their steady trot, and mile
after mile of rolling land slipped by.

From the top of a ridge Madeline saw down into a hollow where a
few of the cowboys had stopped and were sitting round a fire,
evidently busy at the noonday meal. Their horses were feeding on
the long, gray grass.

"Wal, smell of thet burnin' greasewood makes my mouth water,"
said Stillwell. "I'm sure hungry. We'll noon hyar an' let the
hosses rest. It's a long pull to the ranch."

He halted near the camp-fire, and, clambering down, began to
unharness the team. Florence leaped out and turned to help
Madeline.

"Walk round a little," she said. "You must be cramped from