te and tell us what your next adventures are, Mary," exclaimed
one clear voice. "Your family ought to be named Gulliver instead of
Ware, for you are always travelling around to such queer,
out-of-the-way places. I suppose you haven't the faintest idea where
you'll be six months from now."

"No, nor where I'll be in even six weeks," came the answer, in a
laughing girlish treble. "As I told the Mallory twins when we left
Bauer, I'm like 'Gray Brother' now, snuffing at the dawn wind and asking
where shall we lair to-day. From now I follow new trails. And, girls, I
wish you could have heard Brud's mournful little voice piping after me
down the track, as the train pulled out, 'Good hunting, Miss Mayry! Good
hunting!'"

"Oh, you'll have that, no matter where you go," was the confident
answer. "And don't forget to write and tell us about it."

A chorus of good-byes and farewell injunctions followed this seeker of
new trails into the car, and the passengers glanced up to find that she
was a bright, happy-looking girl in her teens. She carried a sheaf of
roses on one arm, and some new magazines under the other. One noticed
first the alertness of the face under the stylish hat with its bronze
quills, and then the girlish simplicity of dress and manner which showed
at a glance that she was a thorough little gentlewoman. Her mother, who
followed, gave the same impression; gray-gowned, gray-gloved, bearing a
parting gift of sweet violets, all that she could carry, in both hands.

One literal minded woman who had overheard Mary's remarks about lairs
and new trails, and who had been on the watch for something wild all
across the state of Texas, looked up in disappointment. There was
nothing whatever in their appearance to suggest that they had lived in
queer places or that they were on their way to one now. The fifteen year
old boy who followed them was like any other big boy in short trousers,
and the young man who brought up the rear and was undeniably good to
look at, gave not the slightest evidence of being on a quest for
adventure. The only reason the woman could see for the name of Gulliver
being applied to the family, was that they settled themselves with the
ease and dispatch of old travellers.

While Jack was hanging up his mother's coat, and Norman storing their
suit-cases away in one section, Mary, in the seat across the aisle, was
pressing her face against the window-pane, watching for a parting
glimpse of the friends