"That," said Miss Edith complacently, "is easily remedied. You know mama
well enough, I should think. Aunt Lodema--funny name, isn't it?--is
stopping here all summer, with Beryl. Beryl has the strangest tastes. She
_will_ spend every summer out here with her father, and if any of us poor
mortals want a glimpse of her between seasons, we must come where she is.
She's a dear, and you must know her, even if you do hold yourself
superior to us women. She's almost as much a crank on athletics as you
are; you ought to see her on the links, once! That's why I can't
understand her running away off here every summer. And, by the way, Ellie,
what are _you_ doing here--a stranger?"

"I'm earning my bread by the sweat of my brow," I told her plainly. "I'm a
cowboy--a would-be, I suppose I should say."

She looked up at me horrified. "Have you--lost--your millions?" she wanted
to know. Edith Loroman was always a straightforward questioner, at any
rate.

"The millions," I told her, laughing, "are all right, I believe. Dad has a
cattle-ranch in this part of the world, and he sent me out here to reform
me. He meant it as a punishment, but at present I'm getting rather the
best of the deal, I think."

"And where's Barney?" she asked. "One reason I came near not recognizing
you was because you hadn't your shadow along."

"Barney is luxuriating in idleness somewhere," I answered lightly. "One
couldn't expect _him_ to turn savage, just because I did. I can't imagine
Barney working for his daily bread."