men appeared at the home
of Clint Wadley's sister. The Ranger was a very self-conscious guest. It
was the first time he had dined with ladies at their home since he had
lost his own mother ten years earlier. He did not know what to do with
his hands and feet. The same would have been true of his hat if Ramona
had not solved that problem by taking it from him. His tongue clove to
the roof of his mouth. He felt a good deal warmer than the actual
temperature of the room demanded.

But Ramona noticed from the background that as soon as she and her aunt
retired from the scene his embarrassment vanished. This slim, brown
young man was quite at his ease with Clint Wadley, much more so than
young Ridley. He was essentially a man's man, and his young hostess
liked him none the less for that.

She made a chance to talk with him alone after supper. They were
standing in the parlor near the window. Ramona pressed the end of her
little finger against a hole in the pane.

"I wonder if you'd like me to sing 'Swanee River' for you, Mr. Roberts?"
she asked.

He did not mind being teased. By this time he had regained his
confidence. He had discovered that she would not bite even though she
might laugh at him in a friendly way.

"You sing it fine," he said.

"I wasn't singing it for you the other time, but for
Mr.--what's-his-name, Gurley?"

"I couldn't very well have you keep shoutin' out, 'I'm a girl,' so I
figured--?"

"I know what you figured, sir. You wanted to take all the chances that
were taken. Father says it was the quickest-witted thing he ever knew."
She shot another dart at him, to his confusion. "Do you like my voice?"

"Well, ma'am, I--"

"You don't have to tell any stories. I see you don't."

Jack took heart. "If you're fishin' for a compliment--"

"What a tactful thing to tell a girl," she said, smiling.

"--I'll tell you that I never heard you sing better."

"Or worse, for that matter," she added; and with one of her swift
changes of mood switched the topic of conversation. "How do you like Art
Ridley?"

"He'll do to take along."

"That's not the way he talks. He says he--he wanted to run away from the
island and leave that man Dinsmore, but you wouldn't let him." Her eyes
met his very directly.

"He's a great lad for imaginin' things. I never want to see any one hold
up his end better."

"You mean that he _didn't_ say he wanted to leave Dinsmore?"

With her gaze searching him so steadily, it ha