lemn and important. I can keep her on a chain, and she
needn't eat until we get there," Susie pleaded.

Trying not to smile at the mental picture of himself arriving in the staid
college town, with a tawny-skinned child in a red, green, and black frock,
a crop-eared cayuse, and a badger on a chain, McArthur ventured it as his
opinion that the climate would be detrimental to Daisy May's health.

"You undoubtedly will prefer to spend your summers here, and it will be
pleasant to have Croppy and Daisy May home to welcome you."

Susie's face sobered.

"Oh, yes, I must come back when school is over. I wouldn't feel it was
right to go away for always and leave Dad and Mother here. Besides, I
guess I'd _want_ to come back; because, after all, you know, I'm half
Injun."

"I wish you'd try and sleep, and let me sit here," urged McArthur kindly.

Susie shook her head.

"No; Ling will stay after awhile, and I'm not sleepy or tired now."

"Well, good-night, little sister." He patted her head, while all the
kindliness of his gentle nature shone from his eyes.

XXIII

IN THEIR OWN WAY

Through the chinks in the logs, where the daubing had dropped out, Smith
watched the lights in the ranch-house. He relieved the tedium of the hours
by trying to imagine what was going on inside, and in each picture Dora
was the central figure. Now, he told himself, she was wiping the dishes
for Ling, and teaching him English, as she often did; and when she had
finished she would bring her portfolio into the dining-room and write home
the exciting events of the day. He wondered what had "ailed" the Indian
woman, that she should die so suddenly; but it was immaterial, since she
_was_ dead. He knew that Susie would sit by her mother; probably in the
chair with the cushion of goose-feathers. It was his favorite chair,
though it went over backwards when he rocked too hard. Ralston--curse
him!--was sitting on one of the benches outside the bunk-house, telling
the grub-liners of Smith's capture, and the bug-hunter was making notes of
the story in his journal. But, alas! as is usual with the pictures one
conjures, nothing at all took place as Smith fancied.

When all the lights, save the one in the living-room, had gone out, there
was nothing to divert his thoughts. Babe, who was on guard outside,
refused to converse with him, and he finally lay down, only to toss
restlessly upon the blankets. The night seemed unusually still and the
stil