s lonely days, happy when
they succeeded in making her laugh.

"That settles it!" said Bert one day, whanging the basin back into the
empty flour-barrel.

"What's the matter?"

"Matter is, we've reached the bottom o' the flour-barrel, an' it's got
to be filled; no two ways about that. We can get along on biscuit an'
pancakes in place o' meat, but we can't put anythin' in the place o'
bread. If it looks favorable to-morrow, we've got to make a break for
Summit an' see if we can't stock up."

Early the next morning they brought out the shivering team and piled
into the box all the quilts and robes they had, and bundling little
Flaxen in, started across the trackless plain toward the low line of
hills to the east, twenty-five or thirty miles. From four o'clock in
the morning till nearly noon they toiled across the sod, now ploughing
through the deep snow where the unburned grass had held it, now
scraping across the bare, burned earth, now wandering up or down the
swales, seeking the shallowest places, now shovelling a pathway
through.

The sun rose unobscured as usual, and shone down with unusual warmth,
which afforded the men the satisfaction of seeing little Flaxen warm
and merry. She chattered away in her own tongue, and clapped her little
hands in glee at sight of the snowbirds running and fluttering about.
As they approached the low hills the swales got deeper and more
difficult to cross, but about eleven o'clock they came to Burdon's
Ranch, a sort of half-way haven between their own claim and Summit, the
end of the railway.

Captain Burdon was away, but Mrs. Burdon, a big, slatternly Missourian,
with all the kindliness of a universal mother in her swarthy face and
flaccid bosom, ushered them into the cave-like dwelling set in the
sunny side of Water Moccasin.

"Set down, set right down. Young uns, git out some o' them cheers an'
let the strangers set. Purty tol'able tough weather? A feller don't git
out much such weather as this 'ere 'thout he's jes' naturally 'bleeged
to. Suse, heave in another twist, an' help the little un to take off
her shawl."

After Mrs. Burdon's little flurry of hospitality was over, Anson found
time to tell briefly the history of the child.

"Heavens to Betsey! I wan' to know!" she cried, her fat hands on her
knees and her eyes bulging. "Wal! wal! I declare, it beats the Dutch!
So that woman jest frizzed right burside the babe! Wal, I never! An'
the ol' man he ain't showed up? Wa