d be
served to all and sundry.

Christmas Day dawned with a seasonable nip to the air, but the sun rose
warm and bright. There was no snow, and by early afternoon clouds of
dust were rising on every trail leading to the Y.D. The old ranchers
and their wives drove in buckboards, and one or two in automobiles;
the younger generation, of both sexes, came on horseback, with many an
exciting impromptu race by the way. Y.D. received them all in the
yard, commenting on the horses and the weather, and how the steers
were wintering, and revealing, at the proper moments, the location of
a well-filled stone jug. The faithful Linder was on hand to assist in
caring for the horses and maintaining organization about the yard. The
women were ushered into the house, but the men sat about the bunk-house
or leaned against the sunny side of the barn, sharpening their wits
in conversational sallies which occasionally brought loud guffaws of
merriment.

In the house every arrangement had been completed. Zen was to come down
the stairs leaning on her father's arm, and the ceremony would take
place in the big central room, lavishly decorated with flowers which
Transley had sent from town in a heated automobile. After the ceremony
the principals and the older people would eat the wedding dinner in
the house, and all others would be served in the bunk-house. One of the
downstairs rooms was already filled with presents.

As the hour approached Zen found herself possessed of a calmness which
she deemed worthy of Y.D.'s daughter. She had elected to be unattended
as she had no very special girl friend, and that seemed the simplest
way out of the problem of selecting someone for this honor. She was,
however, amply assisted with her dressing, and the color of her fine
cheeks burned deeper with the compliments to which she listened with
modest appreciation.

At a quarter to the hour it was discovered that Y.D. had not yet dressed
for the occasion. He was, in fact, engaged with Landson in making a
tentative arrangement for the distribution of next year's hay. Zen had
been so insistent upon an invitation being sent to Mr. and Mrs. Landson,
that Y.D., although fearing a snub for his pains, at last conceded the
point. He had done his neighbor rather less than justice, and now he
and Landson, with the assistance of the jug already referred to, were
burying the hatchet in a corner of the bunk-house.

"Dang this dressin'," Y.D. remonstrated when a messa