rom over The Hill, I guess," drawled Babe
contemptuously. "Those sagebrush fellows from Hidden Creek. I don't think
a whole lot of them. Put one of them alongside of one of our town boys!
Why, they don't speak good, Sheila, and they're rough as a hill trail.
You'd be scared to death of them if you knew them better."

"They look like real men to me," said Sheila. "And I never did
like towns."

"But you're a town girl."

"I am not. I've been in cities and I've been in the country. I've never
lived in a town."

"Well, there'll be a dance one of these days next summer in the Town
Hall, and maybe you'll meet some of those rough-necks. You'll change your
mind about them. Why, I'd sooner dance with a sheep-herder from beyond
the bad-lands, or with one of the hands from the oil-fields, than with
those Hidden Creek fellows. Horse-thieves and hold-ups and Lord knows
what-all they are. No account runaways. Nothing solid or respectable
about them. Take a boy like Robert, now, or Jim--"

Sheila put her hands to her ears. Her face, between the hands, looked
rather wicked in a sprite-like fashion.

"Don't mention to me Mr. James Greely of the Millings National Bank!"

Babe rose pompously. "I think you're kind of off your bat to-night,
Sheila Arundel," she said, chewing noisily. "First you run out at night
with the mercury at 4 below and come dashing back scared to death,
banging at the door, and then you tell me you like Dickie and ask me not
to mention the finest fellow in Millings!"

"The finest fellow in the finest city in the world!" cried Sheila and
laughed. Her laugh was like a torrent of silver coins, but it had the
right maliceful ring of a brownie's "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Babe stopped in the doorway and spoke heavily.

"You're short on sense, Sheila," she said. "You're kind of dippy ...
going out to look at the stars and drawing pictures of that Hidden Creek
trash. But you'll learn better, maybe."

"Wait a minute, Babe!" Sheila was sober again and not unpenitent. "I'm
coming down with you. I want to tell your father that Dickie was sweet to
me. I don't want him to--to--what was it he was going to do to-morrow?"

"Bawl Dickie out."

"Yes. I don't want him to do that. It sounds awful."

"Well, it is. But it won't hurt Dickie any. He's used to it."

Babe, forgiving and demonstrative, here forgot the insult to Millings and
Jim Greely, put her arm round Sheila, and went down the stairs, squeezing
the smaller girl against