I'm a scarecrow for looks right now. And I
started out to be a real partner."

She wiped an errant tear away, and made her way to a store--a new place
sprung up, like the bank and the hotel, with the growing importance of
the town. The stock of ready-made clothing drove her to despair. It
seemed that what women resided in Hazleton must invariably dress in
Mother Hubbard gowns of cheap cotton print with other garments to
match. But eventually they found for her undergarments of a sort, a
waist and skirt, and a comfortable pair of shoes. Hats, as a milliner
would understand the term, there were none. And in default of such she
stuck to the gray felt sombrero she had worn into the Klappan and out
again--which, in truth, became her very well, when tilted at the proper
angle above her heavy black hair. Then she went back to the hotel, and
sought a bathroom.

Returning from this she found Bill, a Bill all shaved and shorn,
unloading himself of sundry packages of new attire.

"Aha, everything is lovely," he greeted enthusiastically. "Old Hack
jumped at the pelts, and paid a fat price for the lot. Also the ranch
deal has gone through. He's a prince, old Hack. Sent up a man and had
it surveyed and classified and the deed waiting for me. And--oh, say,
here's a letter for you."

"For me? Oh, yes," as she looked at the hand-writing and postmark. "I
wrote to Loraine Marsh when we were going north. Good heavens, look at
the date--it's been here since last September!"

"Hackaberry knew where we were," Bill explained. "Sometimes in camps
like this they hold mail two or three years for men that have gone into
the interior."

She put aside the letter, and dressed while Bill had his bath. Then,
with the smoke and grime of a hard trail obliterated, and with decent
clothes upon them, they sought the dining-room. There, while they
waited to be served, Hazel read Loraine Marsh's letter, and passed it
to Bill with a self-conscious little laugh.

"There's an invitation there we might accept," she said casually.

Bill read. There were certain comments upon her marriage, such as the
average girl might be expected to address to her chum who has forsaken
spinsterhood, a lot of chatty mention of Granville people and Granville
happenings, which held no particular interest for Bill since he knew
neither one nor the other, and it ended with an apparently sincere hope
that Hazel and her husband would visit Granville soon as t