in the
old house. Irene, too, was thinking; glimpses of her own butlered
home, and then this background of primal simplicity, where the old
cow-man cooked the meals and the famous specialist set the plates on
the bare board table, and then back of it all her mother, sedate and
correct, and very much shocked over this mingling of the classes. But
the girl's reverie was cut short by a sudden affectionate licking of
her fingers, and glancing downward she found Brownie, adopted early in
her visit at the Eldens', expressing its fondness in the only fashion
at its command.

The calf had been an incident in her ranch experience. It was a late
comer, quite unable to keep pace with the earlier fruits of the herd,
and had the additional misfortune to be born of an ambitious mother,
who had no thought of allowing her domestic duties to impair her social
relationships with the matrons and males of her immediate set. She had
no place for old-fashioned notions; she was determined to keep up with
the herd and the calf might fare as best it could. So they rambled
from day to day; she swaggering along with the set, but turning now and
then to send an impatient moo toward the small brown body stuck on four
long, ungainly legs,--legs which had an unfortunate habit of folding
up, after the fashion of a jack knife, upon unforeseen occasions, and
precipitating the owner in a huddled mass on the ground. At rare
times, when heaven must have stooped close about the herd, the mother
instinct would assert itself, and the cow would return to her
offspring, licking it lavishly and encouraging it with mooings of deep
affection, but such periods of bliss were of short duration. The lure
of "the life" was too great for her; she felt herself born for more
important roles than mere motherhood, and she would presently rush away
to her favourite circle, leaving her begotten to such fates as might
befall.

It was on such an occasion, when left far behind, that one of the
ungainly legs found its way into a badger hole. The collapse was
harder and more complete than usual, and the little sufferer would have
died there had he not been found by Dave and Irene in the course of
their rides. Dave, after a moment's examination, drew his revolver,
but Irene pled for the life of the unfortunate.

"Oh, don't kill it, Dave," she cried. "You couldn't kill it! Let's
get the wagon and take it home. It'll get all right, won't it?"

"Never be worth a----,"