letter came from Guardie with the news that he was coming
East to visit his little girl. Subdued excitement prevailed in the South
Corridor. Rosalie and Margarite and an assemblage of neighbors held
earnest conferences as to what she should wear and how she should
behave. They finally decided upon white muslin and blue ribbons. They
pondered a long time over whether or not she should kiss him, but
Rosalie decided in the negative.

"When he sees you," she explained, "the realization will sweep over him
that you are no longer a child. You have grown to womanhood in the past
three years. And he will feel unaccountably shy in your presence."

"Um," said Margarite, with a slightly doubtful note. "I hope so."

It was on a Sunday that Guardie arrived. The school--in a
body--flattened its nose against the window watching his approach. They
had rather hoped for a flannel shirt and boots and spurs, and, in any
case, for a sombrero. But the horrible truth must be told. He wore a
frock coat of the most unimpeachable cut, with a silk hat and a stick,
and a white gardenia in his buttonhole. To look at him, one would swear
that he had never seen a pistol or a lariat. He was born to pass the
plate in church.

But the worst is still to tell.

He had planned a surprise for his little ward. When she should come back
to the ranch, it would be to a real home. A sweet, womanly influence
would have transformed it into a fitting abode for a young girl. Guardie
was not alone. He was accompanied by his bride--a tall, fair, beautiful
woman with a low voice and gracious manners. She sang for the girls
after dinner, and as sixty-four pairs of eyes studied the beautiful
presence, sixty-four--no, sixty-three--of her auditors decided to grow
up to be exactly like her. Margarite did the honors in a state of dazed
incomprehension. Her make-believe world of seven weeks had crumbled in
an hour, and she had not had time to readjust herself. Never--she
realized it perfectly--could she have competed in femininity with
Guardie's wife. It wasn't in her, not even if she had commenced to
practise from the cradle.

They went back to the city in the evening, and before the entire school,
Guardie patted her on the head and told her to be a good little kiddie
and mind her teachers. His wife, with a protecting arm about her
shoulders, kissed her forehead and called her "dear little daughter."

After evensong on Sundays, came two hours of freedom. The teachers