"Nothing at all, nothing at all," deprecated Melton. "You gave me a
chance for a lovely scrap, just when I was beginning to wonder whether
I'd forgotten how to fight. I've felt ten years younger ever since."

"You don't need to get any younger," retorted his wife in affectionate
reproach. "You're just as much of a boy as you ever were. I declare," she
laughed, turning to her guests; "I ought to call him Peter Pan. He'll
never grow up."

"Well, he's a pretty husky youngster," grinned Tom, looking admiringly at
his host's two hundred and forty pounds of bone and muscle.

But now Mrs. Melton's housewifely instincts asserted themselves, and she
shooed the boys off to their rooms to rid themselves of the dust of the
journey, while she bustled round to get supper on the table.

A few minutes later and they were gathered at supper in the
brightly-lighted, well-furnished dining-room of the ranch. It was a jolly
party, where every one radiated happiness and good nature. There was not
a particle of stiffness or pretence in that wholesome environment. The
delight of their hosts in having them there found an echo in the hearts
of the boys, and they were soon on as genial and friendly a footing as
though they had known them all their lives.

And that supper! To the hungry boys, with their naturally keen appetites
still further sharpened by the long ride, it seemed a feast fit for the
Gods. The table fairly groaned beneath the weight of good things placed
upon it. Crisp trout freshly taken from the mountain brook, a delicious
roast flanked by snowy mounds of potatoes and vegetables just plucked
from the garden patch, luscious berries warm with the sun, deluged with