"No," replied Judith, thoughtfully, "but sometimes I hate him."

"I think he's a pretty good old scout in spite of his temper," said the
boy.

"Well," admitted Judith, "I guess I do too. At least, I can see why so
many women like him. He's awful good-looking. I can see that now I'm
growing up."

"Growing up!" mocked Douglas.

But before Judith could pick up the gauntlet, the horses came to pause
before the lighted window. Judith jumped from Swift, unsaddled her and
turned her into the corral. Then she went hurriedly into the house.
Douglas unsaddled more slowly, and strode toward the sheds where calves
were bellowing and cows lowing.

For half an hour he worked in the starlight, throwing alfalfa to the
crowding stock. It was so cold that by the time he had finished he
scarcely could turn the door-knob with his aching fingers. He entered the
kitchen.

It was a large room, with the log walls neatly chinked and whitewashed.
An unshaded kerosene lamp burned on the big table in the middle of the
room. Judith was cutting bread. The air was heavy with smoke from frying
beef. A tall, slender woman, with round shoulders, stood over the red-hot
stove, stirring the potatoes. She was a very beautiful, very worn edition
of Judith, though one wondered if she ever burned with even a small
portion of Judith's eager, wistful fires. She turned as Douglas came in
and gave him a quick smile.