"And what have you to say for yourself?" Ernestine challenged, as Dick
joined them.

"Nothing," he answered sadly. "The ranch is depleted. Three hundred
beautiful young bulls depart to-morrow for South America, and Thayer--
you met him last night--is taking twenty carloads of rams. All I can
say is that my congratulations are extended to Idaho and Chile."

"Plant more acorns," Paula laughed, her arms about her sisters, the
three of them smilingly expectant of an inevitable antic.

"Oh, Dick, sing your acorn song," Lute begged.

He shook his head solemnly.

"I've got a better one. It's purest orthodoxy. It's got Red Cloud and
his acorn song skinned to death. Listen! This is the song of the
little East-sider, on her first trip to the country under the auspices
of her Sunday School. She's quite young. Pay particular attention to
her lisp."

And then Dick chanted, lisping:

"The goldfish thwimmeth in the bowl,
The robin thiths upon the tree;
What maketh them thit so eathily?
Who stuckth the fur upon their breasths?
God! God! He done it!"