He ran barking to the meadow side of the road. The
foremost cow which, grazing the dusty grass, had strayed toward the
gate, turned back into the ruts again. Elliott pulled the gate shut,
in her haste leaving herself outside. There, too spent to climb over,
she flattened her slender form against the gray boards, while, driven
by Prince, the whole herd, horns tossing, tails switching, flanks
heaving, thudded its way past.

And there, three minutes later, Bruce, dashing over the hill in
response to a message relayed by telephone and boy to the lower
meadow, found her.

"The cows have gone down," Elliott told him. "Prince has them. He will
take them home, won't he?"

"Prince? Good enough! He'll get the cows home all right. But what are
you doing in this mix-up?"

"A woman telephoned the house," said Elliott. "I was afraid I couldn't
reach any of you in time, so I came over myself."

"You like cows?" The question shot at her like a bullet.

The piquant nose wrinkled entrancingly. "Scared to death of 'em."

"I guessed as much." The boy nodded. "Gee whiz, but you've got good
stuff in you!"

And though her shoes were dusty and her hair tousled, and though her
knees hadn't stopped shaking even yet, Elliott Cameron felt a sudden
sense of satisfaction and pride. She turned and looked over the fence
at the meadow. In its unmarred beauty it seemed to belong to her.

CHAPTER V

A SLACKER UNPERCEIVED

"I think," remarked Elliott, the next morning, "that I will walk up
and watch the haying for a while."

She had finished washing the separator and the milk-pans. It had
taken a full hour the first morning; growing expertness had already
reduced the hour to three-quarters, and she had hopes of further
reductions. She still held firmly to the opinion that the process
was uninteresting, but an innate sense of fairness told her that the
milk-pans were no more than her share. Of course, she couldn't spend
six weeks in a household whose component members were as busy as
were this household's members, and do nothing at all. That was the
disadvantage in coming to the place. She was bound to dissemble her
feelings and wash milk-pans. But if she had to wash them, she might
as well do it well. There was no question about that. If the
actual process still bored the girl, the results did not. Elliott
was proud of her pans, with a pride in which there was no atom of
indifference. She scoured them until they shone, not because,