p of the colonel's son.

"My! it's good to see you!" he cried, looking at her with the old
frankness. He stepped back a little to measure her from top to toe. "And
_haven't_ you shot up!"

"Like a ragweed," she laughed, taking him into the kitchen, where she
brought him a chair from the sitting-room.

"You're a full-fledged housekeeper, too," he declared. "How do you like
the change from herding?"

"Oh, I haven't herded much for a long while," she replied proudly, as
she refilled her tub from a barrel in the corner that had been drawn by
the biggest brother; "I helped mother in the house all last summer." She
grew sober suddenly, and the colonel's son hastened to change the
subject.

"You're looking awfully well," he assured her.

"I've worn off some of my tan," she explained.

"Well, that's partly it," he said, and his glance was boyishly eloquent.

She fell to rubbing again, and he watched her admiringly, noticing how
trim was her black dress, and how spotless were the lace at her throat
and the ribbon that bound back her hair.

"I don't believe you can guess where I'm started for," he said, after a
moment of silence.

She straightened up to rest her back and looked out through an open
window. "I thought you were just coming here."

"No." He watched her for a sign of pleased astonishment when he
continued, "I'm on my way to St. Paul."

She turned swiftly, her eyes open wide. "College?" she questioned in a
low, strained voice.

"Nearly that; I shall prepare for West Point. The bishop has chosen a
school for me."

Her eyes went back to the window, but a mist was over them now, and she
could not see the square of cottonwoods and barley framed by the sash.

"I left the Wyoming post a week ago," he went on. "Father's orderly
brought my trunk to Chamberlain, and I rode down from there to the
reservation--and then came here. I shall take the train at the station.
It's changed to morning time, I believe, and goes by about 10:30."

She seemed not to hear him. Her face was still turned away, and she was
murmuring to herself. "The bishop!" she repeated; "the bishop!" All at
once she ran out of the room. When she returned, she held a tin
spice-box in her hand. She took a letter from it and held it toward the
colonel's son. "Read this," she said. "It's from the bishop to mother."

He spread out the written sheet, which was dated two years back, and
read it aloud.

"'Whenever that spirited little maid of your