"My, yes, and you opened it right there, under the cherry tree, and
started _Home, Sweet Home_. I can hear it now, and the crowd joining in.
I'm glad you kept it, Annabel; a new one wouldn't seem just the same."

"It's traveled though. You ought to have seen me moving from Oregon. The
old delivery wagon was heaping full." Her laugh this time was spontaneous.
"And old Kate couldn't make more than ten miles a day. But I had a good
tent, and when she had done her day's stunt, I just tied her out to feed
and made camp. The hardest was keeping track of the goats, but the flock
was small then, and I had two dogs."

"I see," said Banks. "You kept 'em ahead of the wagon when you was on the
road and let 'em forage for themselves. But I'd like to have a look at old
Kate. She came of good stock."

Annabel went over and, seating herself in her father's chair, untied her
sunbonnet. "Kate died," she said. "I hired her out to a man down the
valley, and he worked her too hard in the heat."

There was a silent moment. She took off the bonnet and laid it in her lap.
The light, streaming through a small window, touched her hair, which was
bound in smooth, thick braids around her head.

"My, my," the little man said, "ain't it a sight? I'd have known you in a
minute without that bonnet down at the gate. My, but don't it make a
difference what a woman wears? I'll bet I can't tell you from the girl I
left in Oregon when you've changed your clothes."

She shook her head. "This denim is all I've got," she said, with a touch
of defiance. "I wore out all I had; goats are hard on clothes."

"I thought likely." His bleak face began to glow. "And I knew you was out
of town away from the stores, so's I brought along a little outfit. You
wait a minute, and I'll fetch it right in."

He was gone before he finished speaking and returned in an incredibly
short time with the trunk, which he deposited on the floor before her.
Then he felt in his pocket and, finding the key, fitted it and lifted the
lid. It was then, for the first time, she noticed the maimed hand.

"Johnny!" she cried, and the pent emotion surged in her voice. "Johnny,
you've been--hurt."

"Oh, that don't amount to anything now, only the looks. I can turn out
just as much work."

He hurried to open the tray, but before he could remove the packing of
tissue paper that enveloped the hat, she reached and took the crippled
hand between her own. Her fingers fluttered, caressing, w