fixes some place for us to live, I
will make you a little visit."

"I suppose there is no use trying to contend against the rights of a
brand-new husband," returned Kitty, "but it's a promise, that you will
come to me as soon as your camping trip is over?"

"It's a promise," agreed Helen. "You see, that's really part of
Stanford's plan; I was so sure you would want me, you know."

"Want you? I should say I do want you," cried Kitty, "and I need you,
too."

Something in her voice made Helen look at her questioningly, but Kitty
only smiled.

"I'll tell you all about it when there is more time."

"Let me see," said Helen. "There used to be--why, of course, that nice
looking man you were talking to when I recognized you--Phil Acton." She
looked across the street as she spoke, but Phil had gone.

"Please don't, Helen dear," said Kitty, "that was only my schoolgirl
nonsense. When I came back home I found how impossible it all was. But I
must run back to the folks now. Won't you come and meet them?"

Before Helen could answer someone shouted, "They're getting ready for
the start," and everybody looked down the hill toward the place where
the racing machines were sputtering and roaring in their clouds of blue
smoke.

Helen caught up the field glasses to look, saying, "We can't go now,
Kitty. You stay here with us until after the race is started; then we'll
go."

As Helen lowered the glasses Stanford, who had come to stand beside the
automobile, reached out his hand. "Let me have a look, Helen. They say
my old friend, Judge Morris, is the official starter." He put the field
glasses to his eyes. "There he is all right, as big as life; finest man
that ever lived. Look, Helen." He returned the glasses to his wife "If
you want to see a genuine western lawyer, a scholar and a gentleman,
take a look at that six-foot-three or four down there in the gray
clothes."

"I see him," said Helen, "but there seems to be some thing the matter;
there he goes back to the machines. Now he's laying down the law to the
drivers."

"They won't put over anything on Morris," said Stanford admiringly.

Then a deep, kindly voice at his elbow said, "Howdy, Manning! Ain't you
got time to speak to your old friends?"

Stanford whirled and, with a glad exclamation, grasped the Dean's
outstretched hand. Still holding fast to the cattleman, he again turned
to his wife, who was looking down at them with smiling interest. "Helen,
this is Mr. Bal