off to a round-up on the fifth, and Mr. Hartley
was going with them for a week. To the girls the big four-horse wagon
for the food and bedding--the "wheeled house" that was to be home for
the boys--was always an object of great interest. Then there was the
excitement of the start on the day itself, which this time was made
particularly momentous by the going of Mr. Hartley.

The ranch house seemed very lonely without its genial, generous-hearted
owner, and everybody was glad that he had promised to come back in a
week. Meanwhile, of course, there was "the man."

The man was he who had been found by the girls in the prairie grass. He
was still almost as much of a mystery as ever. Mr. Hartley had insisted
upon his staying--and, indeed (though no bones were broken), he was
quite too badly injured to be moved for a time. He was able now to sit
in the big comfortable chairs on the back gallery; and he spent hours
there every day, sometimes reading, more often sitting motionless, with
his dark eyes closed, and his hands resting on his crutches by his side.

He had not seemed to care to talk of himself. He had merely said that
his horse had thrown him, and that he had lain in the grass for some
time before he was found. He was quiet, had good manners, and used good
language. He said that his name was John Edwards. He seemed deeply
grateful for all kindness shown him, but was plainly anxious to be well
enough to be on his way again. Mr. Hartley, however, had won his promise
to remain till he himself returned from the round-up.

All the young people did their best to make the injured man's time pass
as pleasantly as possible; and very often one or another of them might
be found reading to him, or playing a game of checkers or chess with
him.

It was on such an occasion that Cordelia Wilson, at the conclusion of a
game of checkers, found the courage to say something that had long been
on her mind.

"Mr. Edwards, do--do you know Texas very well?"

The man smiled a little.

"Well, Miss Cordelia, Texas is rather large, you know."

Cordelia sighed almost impatiently.

"Dear me! I--I wish every one wouldn't always say that," she lamented.
"It's so discouraging!"

"Dis--couraging?"

"Yes--when you're trying to find some one."

"Oh! And are you trying to find some one?"

"Yes, sir; four some ones."

"Well, I should think that might be difficult--in Texas, unless you know
where they are," smiled the man.

"I don't; a