. He was home. What surprise and joy to
learn that it was also Lucy's home! He stifled his intense curiosity
and longing. He composed himself. He walked a little under the trees.
He thought of the happiness he would bring his mother, and Alice. In a
few moments he would make the acquaintance of his baby brother.

Flowers that he recognized as the favorites of his mother bordered the
sandy path around the cabin. The house had been constructed of logs
and later improved with a frame addition, unpainted, weather stained,
covered with vines. A cozy little porch, with wide eaves and a
windbreak of vines, faced the south. A rude homemade rocking chair sat
on the porch; a child's wooden toys also attested to a carpenter's
skill Pan well remembered. He heard a child singing, then a woman's
mellow voice.

Pan drew a long breath and took off his sombrero. It had come--the
moment he had long dreamed of. He stepped loudly upon the porch, so
that his spurs jangled musically, and he knocked upon the door frame.

"Who's there?" called the voice again. It made Pan's heart beat fast.
In deep husky tones he replied:

"Just a poor starved cowboy, Ma'am, beggin' a little grub."

"Gracious me!" she exclaimed, and her footsteps thudded on the floor
inside.

Pan knew his words would fetch her. Then he saw her come to the door.
Years, trouble, pain had wrought their havoc, but he would have known
her at first sight among a thousand women.

"Mother!" he called, poignantly, and stepped toward her, with his arms
out.

She seemed stricken. The kindly eyes changed, rolled. Her mouth
opened wide. She gasped and fainted in his arms.

A little while later, when she had recovered from the shock and the
rapture of Pan's return, they sat in the neat little room.

"Bobby, don't you know your big brother?" Pan was repeating to the
big-eyed boy who regarded him so solemnly. Bobby was fascinated by
this stranger, and at last was induced to approach his knee.

"Mother, I reckon you'll never let Bobby be a cowboy," teased Pan, with
a smile.

"Never," she murmured fervently.

"Well, he might do worse," went on Pan thoughtfully. "But we'll make a
plain rancher of him, with a leaning to horses. How's that?"

"I'd like it, but not in a wild country like this," she replied.

"Reckon we'd do well to figure on a permanent home in Arizona, where
both summers and winters are pleasant. I've heard a lot about Arizona.
It's a la