by the humpin' hyenas, they
never was called easy marks before!"

That was Tom's last comment on the subject. Belle, not liking the look
on his face, because she knew quite well what it portended, passed him
two kinds of preserves and changed the subject. Al and Duke presently
left for the bunk house. Mary Hope's party and her evident intention
to slight the Lorrigans was not mentioned again for days.

But Tom's wrath was smoldering. He was not hasty. He waited. He
himself met Mary Hope in the trail one day, lifted his hat to her
without a word and rode on. Mary Hope let him go with a chilly nod and
a murmured greeting which was no more than an empty form. Certainly
she did not read Tom's mind, did not dream that he was thinking of the
piano,--and from an angle that had never once presented itself to
her.

So, now that you see how both were justified in their opinions, as
formed from different points of view, let me tell you what happened.

Mary Hope had her picnic, with never a thunderstorm to mar the day.
Which is unusual, since a picnic nearly always gets itself rained
upon. She had sent out more than a hundred invitations--tickets two
dollars, please--and there were more who invited themselves and had to
be supplied with tickets cut hastily out of pasteboard boxes that had
held sandwiches.

Mary Hope was jubilant. Mother Douglas, as official hostess, moved
here and there among the women who fussed over the baskets and
placated with broken pieces of cake their persistent offspring. Mother
Douglas actually smiled, though her face plainly showed that it was
quite unaccustomed to the expression, and tilted the smile downward at
the corners. Mother Douglas was a good woman, but she had had little
in her life to bring smiles, and her habitual expression was one of
mournful endurance.

It was sultry, and toward evening the mosquitoes swarmed out of the
lush grass around the spring and set the horses stamping and moving
about uneasily. But it was a very successful picnic, with all the
chatter, all the gourmandizing, all the gossip, all the childish
romping in starched white frocks, all the innocuous pastimes that one
expects to find at picnics.

Mary Hope wondered how in the world they were all going to find room
inside the schoolhouse to dance. She had been frugal in the matter of
music, dreading to spend any money in hiring professional musicians,
lest she might not have enough people to justify the expense. Now