Part 6 (1/2)

”Well, no, I can't say I did. But”--with a praiseworthy if not altogether successful effort--”I am very glad to see you, my dear.”

The first half of this speech was so much more convincing than the last, that the girl felt an unpleasant stricture about her throat, and knew herself to be on the verge of tears.

”I could go back,” she said, with a pathetic little air of dignity.

”Perhaps you would not have any place to put me if I should stay.”

”Oh, yes; I can put you in the museum”--and he looked at her with the first glimmer of appreciation, feeling that she would be a creditable addition to his collection of curiosities.

Elizabeth met his look with one of quick comprehension, and then she broke into a laugh which saved the day. It was a pleasant laugh in itself, and furthermore, if she had not laughed just at that juncture she would surely have disgraced herself forever by a burst of tears.

Cy Willows, meanwhile, believing that ”the gal and her pa” would rather not be observed at their first meeting, had discreetly busied himself with the two neat trunks which his pa.s.senger had brought.

”Hullo, Jake!” he remarked, as the ranchman appeared at the door; ”this is a great day for you, ain't it?”

The two men took hold of one of the trunks together, and carried it into the museum. When the door opened, Willows almost dropped his end from sheer amazement. He stood in the middle of the room, staring from Venus to altar-cloth, from altar-cloth to censer.

”Gos.h.!.+” he remarked at last. ”Your gal's struck it rich!”

The ”gal” took it more quietly. To her, the master of this fine apartment was not Jake Stanwood, the needy ranchman, but Jacob Stanwood, Esq., gentleman and scholar, to the manor born. She stepped to the window, and looked out across the s.h.i.+mmering plain to the rugged peaks and the warm blue slopes of ”the range,” and a sigh of admiration escaped her.

”Oh, papa!” she cried, ”how beautiful it is!”

”And I'll be durned if 't wa' n't the mountings the gal was looking at all the time!” Cy Willows declared, when reporting upon the astonis.h.i.+ng situation at the ranch.

Stanwood himself was somewhat impressed by the girl's att.i.tude. The museum had come to seem to his long unaccustomed mind a very splendid apartment indeed. When, a few minutes later, Elizabeth joined him in the rudely furnished living-room of the cabin, he felt something very like chagrin at her first observation.

”Oh, papa!” she cried. ”I'm so glad the rest of it is a real ranch house! I've always wanted to see just how a real ranchman lives!”

He thought ruefully that she would soon learn, to her cost, how a very poverty-stricken ranchman lived. His examination of the larder had not been encouraging.

”I am afraid we shall have rather poor pickings for supper, my dear,” he said apologetically. He called her ”my dear” from the first; it seemed more non-committal and impersonal than the use of her name. He had not called a young lady by her first name for fifteen years.

”I have my dinner in the middle of the day,” he went on, ”and I seem to have run short of provisions this evening.”

”I suppose you have a man-cook,” she remarked, quite ignoring his apology.

”Yes,” he replied grimly. ”I have the honor to fill that office myself.”

”Why; isn't there anybody else about the place?”

”No. I'm 'out of help' just now, as old Madam Gallup used to say. I don't suppose you remember old Madam Gallup.”

”Oh, yes, I do! Mama used to have her to dinner every Sunday. She looked like a d.u.c.h.ess, but when she died people said she died of starvation.

That was the year after you went away,” she added thoughtfully.

It seemed very odd to hear this tall young woman say ”mama,” and to realize that it was that other Elizabeth that she was laying claim to.

Why, the girl seemed almost as much of a woman as her mother. Fifteen years! A long time to be sure. He ought to have known better than to have slipped into reminiscences at the very outset. Uncomfortable things, always--uncomfortable things!

He would not let her help him get the supper, and with a subtle perception of the irritation which he was at such pains to conceal, she forbore to press the point, and went, instead, and sat in the doorway, looking dreamily across the prairie.