On the morning of the day that Uncle Ben had confided to the master
his ingenious plan for settling the boundary disputes, the barking
of McKinstry's yellow dog announced the approach of a stranger to the
ranch. It proved to be Mr. Stacey--not only as dazzlingly arrayed
as when he first rose above Johnny Filgee's horizon, but wearing, in
addition to his jaunty business air, a look of complacent expectation of
the pretty girl whom he had met at the ball. He had not seen her for a
month. It was a happy inspiration of his own that enabled him to present
himself that morning in the twin functions of a victorious Mercury and
Apollo.

McKinstry had to be summoned from an adjacent meadow, while Cressy, in
the mean time, undertook to entertain the gallant stranger. This was
easily done. It was part of her fascinations that, disdaining the
ordinary real or assumed ignorance of the ingenue of her class, she
generally exhibited to her admirers (with perhaps the single exception
of the master) a laughing consciousness of the state of mind into which
her charms had thrown them. She understood their passion if she could
not accept it. This to a bashful rustic community was helpful, but in
the main unsatisfactory; with advances so promptly unmasked, the most
strategic retreat was apt to become an utter rout. Leaning against the
lintel of the door, her curved hand shading the sparkling depths of
her eyes, and the sunlight striking down upon the pretty curves of her
languid figure, she awaited the attack.

"I haven't seen you, Miss Cressy, since we danced together--a month
ago."

"That was mighty rough papers," said Cressy, who was purposely
dialectical to strangers, "considering that you trapsed up and down the