make things sociable and easy all
round.

With this end in view she set forth her best china, and covered the
table with food enough for a dozen, thanking her stars that it was
baking day, and everything had turned out well. Ben and his father sat
talking by the window till they were bidden to "draw up and help
themselves" with such hospitable warmth that everything had an extra
relish to the hungry pair.

Ben paused occasionally to stroke the rusty coat-sleeve with
bread-and-buttery fingers to convince himself that "Daddy" had really
come, and his father disposed of various inconvenient emotions by eating
as if food was unknown in California. Mrs. Moss beamed on every one from
behind the big tea-pot like a mild full moon, while Bab and Betty kept
interrupting one another in their eagerness to tell something new about
Ben and how Sanch lost his tail.

"Now you let Mr. Brown talk a little; we all want to hear how he 'came
alive,' as you call it," said Mrs. Moss, as they drew round the fire in
the "settin'-room," leaving the tea-things to take care of themselves.

It was not a long story, but a very interesting one to this circle of
listeners: all about the wild life on the plains, trading for mustangs,
the terrible blow that nearly killed Ben, senior, the long months of
unconsciousness in the California hospital, the slow recovery, the
journey back, Mr. Smithers's tale of the boy's disappearance, and then
the anxious trip to find out from Squire Allen where he now was.

"I asked the hospital folks to write and tell you as soon as I knew
whether I was on my head or my heels, and they promised; but they
didn't; so I came off the minute I could, and worked my way back,
expecting to find you at the old place. I was afraid you'd have worn out
your welcome here and gone off again, for you are as fond of traveling
as your father."

[Illustration: MRS. MOSS WELCOMES BEN'S FATHER.]

"I wanted to, sometimes, but the folks here were so dreadful good to me
I _couldn't_," confessed Ben, secretly surprised to find that the
prospect of going off with Daddy even cost him a pang of regret, for the
boy had taken root in the friendly soil, and was no longer a wandering
thistle-down, tossed about by every wind that blew.

"I know what I owe 'em, and you and me will work out that debt before we
die, or our name isn't B.B.," said Mr. Brown, with an emphatic slap on
his knee, which Ben imitated half unconsciously as he exclaimed
hear