Mrs. Parker burst into shrill laughter.

"John," she demanded of her husband, "what do you think of this young
man?"

"Pick up the marbles, Mr. Farrel," Parker replied, with poorly assumed
good humor. "You win."

"I think this is a jolly adventure," Kay struck in, quick to note the
advantage of her outspoken mother's course. "Here you have been more
than two months, mother, regarding yourself as the mistress of the Rancho
Palomar, retinting rooms, putting in modern plumbing, and cluttering up
the place with a butler and maids, when--presto!--overnight a stranger
walks in and says kindly, 'Welcome to my poor house!' After which, he
appropriates pa's place at the head of the table, rings in his own cook
and waitress, forces his own food on us, and makes us like it. Young
man, I greatly fear we're going to grow fond of you."

"You had planned to spend the summer here, had you not, Mrs. Parker?"

"Yes. John Parker, have you any idea what's going to become of us?"

"We'll go to Santa Barbara and take rooms at a hotel there for the
present," he informed her.

"I loathe hotels," she protested.

"I think I informed you, Mrs. Parker, that you are welcome to my poor
house," Farrel reminded her. "I shall be happy to have you remain here
until I go away. After that, of course, you can continue to stay on