Part 7 (2/2)

”Howdy, Mr. Packard?” she said in response to the rancher's cordial greeting. ”Jean Sawyer, your foreman, was in last night an' left your hoss for yo'. He said as how he was expectin' yo' in some time today.

You've fetched along some visitors, I take it.” The woman looked at the older girl with unconcealed admiration. The blood rushed to Jane's face.

Was this innkeeper's wife going to tell her that she had never seen but one other girl who was more beautiful? But Mrs. Bently made no personal comment.

When Mr. Packard explained that his companions were the young Abbotts, and that they were to spend the summer in a cabin on Redford Mountain, her only remark was: ”Is it the cabin that's been standin' empty so long, the one that's a short piece down from where Meg Heger lives?”

”Yes, that's it, Mrs. Bently.” Then the man implored: ”Please bring us some of your good ham and eggs and coffee and----”

”There's plenty of waffle dough left, if the young people likes 'em.” The woman smiled at Julie, who beamed back at her.

”Oh, boy!” Gerald chimed in. ”Me for the waffles!”

The cooking was excellent and even the fastidious Jane thoroughly enjoyed the breakfast.

When they emerged from the inn, Dan said, regretfully: ”The sun is high up. We've missed our first sunrise.”

”We were on the Toboggan Grade when the sun rose,” Mr. Packard told them.

He then shook hands with Jane and Dan as he said heartily:

”Here is where we part company. That is my horse over yonder. A beauty, isn't he? Silver, I call him. By the way, Dan, I want you to meet Jean Sawyer. He is just about your age, and a fine fellow, if I am a judge of character. I would trust him with anything I have. In fact, I do. I send him all the way to the city often, to get money from the bank to pay off the men. I know he isn't dishonest, and yet, for some reason, he ran away from his home. You know, we have a code out here by which each man is permitted to keep his own counsel.

”We ask no one from whence he came or why. We take people for what they seem to be, with no knowledge of their past.”

Then, breaking off abruptly, the older man repeated: ”I would, indeed, like you to meet Jean and tell me what you think of him. Come over to our place soon, or, better still, since that is a rough trip until you get hardened to the saddle, I'll send him over to call on you next Sunday.”

Dan's face brightened. ”Great, Mr. Packard; do that! A chap whom you so much admire must be worth knowing. Have him take dinner with us. Goodbye, and thank you for being our much-needed guide.”

When their neighbor and friend had swung into his saddle and had ridden away, Jane said fretfully: ”I don't see why you asked that Jean Sawyer, who may be an outlaw, for all we know, to come over to our place for dinner.” Then, when she saw the expression of troubled disappointment in her brother's face, again the small voice within rebuked her, and she implored: ”Oh, Dan, don't mind me! I know I am horridly selfish, but I am so tired, and these people are all so queer. What are we to do next?”

The older lad knew what an effort Jane was making, and he held her arm affectionately close as he replied: ”Mr. Packard said that the stage would call for us at 8:30. We will have half an hour to purchase our supplies. Grandmother made out a list of things we would need. Julie has that. Jane, here is my wallet. I wish you would take charge of our funds.

You won't be climbing around as I will. It will be safer with you.”

Together the girls went into the store and purchased the supplies they would need. Then they rejoined the boys, who had waited outside. Gerry wanted to look in the school house.

The Abbotts found the door of the rambling log cabin across from the inn standing open, and they peered in curiously. The room was long and well lighted by large windows, but it was quite like any other country school.

There were eight rows of benches, one back of the other, with a shelf-like desk in front of each. These had many an initial carved in them. The teacher's table and chair faced the others, with a blackboard hanging on the wall at the back. Near the door was a pail and a dipper.

Dan smiled. ”It doesn't look as though genius could be awakened here, does it?” he was saying, when a pleasant voice back of them caused them to turn.

”You're wrong there, my friend.” The young people saw before them a withered-up little old man with the whitest of hair reaching to his shoulders. Noting their unconcealed astonishment, he continued, by way of introduction, ”I am Preacher Bellows on Sunday and Teacher Bellows on weekdays. Now, as I was saying, having overheard your remark, this little schoolroom and the teacher who presides over it are proud to tell you that your statement is not correct. It may not look as though genius could be awakened here,” he smiled most kindly. ”I'll agree that it does not, but that is just what has happened. Meg Heger, one of my mountain girls, has written some beautiful things. Her last composition, 'Sunrise From the Rim-Rock,' is truly poetical.”

Jane turned away impatiently. Was she never to be through with hearing about Meg Heger? ”Brother,” the manner in which she interrupted the conversation was almost rude, ”isn't that the stage returning? I am so tired, I do want to get up to our cabin.” She started to cross the street. Dan quickly joined her. He did not rebuke her for not having said goodbye to the teacher.

”He's a nice man, isn't he, Dan?” Gerald skipped along by his brother's side as he spoke. ”He loves mountain people, doesn't he?”

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