e safely grazing in shelter. When the
storm was sufficiently over for us to venture home, he led out
Darkie himself and helped me to mount. Neither he nor we said a word
about her loss, though we were perfectly certain he must have taken
her from the stable.

"After that day he kept his sheep to his own side of the ridge, and,
though he was never a pleasant neighbour, Uncle Carr wasn't obliged
to go to law with him again about the boundary of the two ranches.
So we felt that Darkie had patched up peace, particularly as we
didn't accuse Lu Hudson of taking her. Horse-stealing is a very
serious crime in the West, so I expect he thought he had got off
uncommonly well."

"And what became of Darkie?" asked Meg, as Diana's manuscript came to a
rather abrupt end.

"Uncle Carr gave up the ranch when he went into Congress, and Darkie and
all the other ponies were left at Buller's Creek. She wouldn't have been
happy off the prairie, or I'd have begged to have her. Lenox? Why, he's
still in France; but I suppose he'll be demobilized soon, and going back
to Harvard. He wants to be a professor, not a ranchman. He's a fearfully
clever boy. Now, I've read my story, and I'm waiting for yours. Who's
going to come next?"

"After such excitements as horse-stealing and a blizzard, our poor
little adventures would seem very tame," said Mrs. Fleming, voicing the
general feeling of the family, each member of which was showing a plain
desire to shirk. "Suppose we keep our stories for another evening, and
play games now? Meg, get pencils and paper, and we'll have a round of
'telegrams'."

CHAPTER XI

Diana to the Rescue

Next morning the postman arrived quite laden with parcels and letters
addressed to "Miss Diana Hewlitt". As Mrs. Fleming had prophesied,
everything came at once, and her young guest spent a busy and ecstatic
half-hour opening her various packages. Scent, French chocolates,
Parisian embroideries, gloves, ribbons, and other dainty vanities such
as girls love were raved over and spread forth on the table, while Diana
devoured the contents of her letters. From one large envelope she drew
forth a photograph of a lovely lady in evening-dress.

"It's Mother! Oh, how perfectly sweet! And the very image of her, too!"
she cried, handing the photo to Meg for admiration.

Her fit of the blues had utterly vanished, and she was in a
rose-coloured mood to-day. Meg, leaning over t