ecial
Providence to that unsuspicious youth her brother found profit of his
own in the plan.

"I've a world of things to do here, Nell," he said. "I ought to stay
here this winter. I'd be that much forwarder with my work next spring."

"I shall be quite safe alone," she answered.

"Why go alone? If you insist on robbing the cradle, why not take the
innocent with you? Of course you'll have to see that he doesn't walk off
the train, or lose his hat out of the window, or eat too much candy, or
rough-house the other children on the way, but he'll serve every purpose
of a man and brother."

"To be sure!" she broke in with enthusiasm. "I worried last night about
his going. We'll put it that I'm in his charge, and he will really be in
mine."

"That's it. He'll feel important, and you'll be the tidy nurse. And with
both of you off my mind I can start those chaps to getting out logs for
the Bar-B mansion. I'll camp over there till a good tracking snow comes,
then I'll have an elk hunt--I want a good head for the dining room--then
I'll hole up here at Pierce's for the winter and learn how to handle my
stock. So that's settled."

Mrs. Laithe rode over to apprise Ewing of this plan. The little clearing
slept vacant in the sunlight. She left Cooney "tied to the ground" by
throwing the bridle rein over his head, and knocked on the open door of
the cabin with the handle of her quirt. There was no response save
echoes from the empty living room. Crossing this she drew aside the
blanket that curtained the door of the studio. The big room lay before
her in strange disorder. Pictures and hangings were gone from the wall.
Two yawning trunks stood by the door; canvases and portfolios lay about;
loose drawings and clothing littered the chairs and floor. Beyond this
disarray stood the easel, still holding the mother's portrait. In the
light from the window the eyes looked livingly into her own through the
silence. She was struck by some new glint of meaning in them, something
she read as an appeal, almost a prayer. Her own eyes fell and then she
first noticed the room's living occupant.

On the couch, in the shadow of the half-drawn curtain, Ewing lay asleep.
He had sprawled there easily, half turned on his side, one arm flung
about his head, the other hanging over to the floor. Now that she saw
him she heard his measured breathing. Some new, quick-born
interest--curiosity, sympathy, she knew not what--impelled her to scan
the sleepi