a pair of shoes two sizes too large, or a fur cap in September. He
would have hired a cheap parlor organ for her, but for the apparently
unexpected revelation that she couldn't play. He had received the news
of a clue to his long-lost son without emotion, but lately he seemed to
look upon it as a foregone conclusion, and one that necessarily solved
the question of companionship for Flip. "In course, when you've got your
own flesh and blood with ye, ye can't go foolin' around with strangers."
These autumnal blossoms of affection, I fear, came too late for any
effect upon Flip, precociously matured by her father's indifference
and selfishness. But she was good humored, and, seeing him seriously
concerned, gave him more of her time, even visited him in the sacred
seclusion of the "diamond pit," and listened with far-off eyes to his
fitful indictment of all things outside his grimy laboratory. Much
of this patient indifference came with a capricious change in her own
habits; she no longer indulged in the rehearsal of dress, she packed
away her most treasured garments, and her leafy boudoir knew her no
more. She sometimes walked on the hillside, and often followed the trail
she had taken with Lance when she led him to the ranch. She once or
twice extended her walk to the spot where she had parted from him,
and as often came shyly away, her eyes downcast and her face warm with
color. Perhaps because these experiences and some mysterious instinct of
maturing womanhood had left a story in her eyes, which her two adorers,
the Postmaster and the Butcher, read with passion, she became famous
without knowing it. Extravagant stories of her fascinations brought
strangers into the valley. The effect upon her father may be imagined.
Lance could not have desired a more effective guardian than he proved to
be in this emergency. Those who had been told of this hidden pearl were
surprised to find it so jealously protected.