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There was once a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so like her mother in temper and face, that to have seen the one was to have seen the other. They were both so disagreeable and proud, that it was impossible to live with them. The younger, who was the exact portrait of her father in her kindly and polite ways, was also as beautiful a girl as one could see. As we are naturally fond of those who resemble us, the mother doted on her elder daughter, while for the younger she had a most violent aversion, and made her take her meals in the kitchen and work hard all day. Among other things that she was obliged to do, this poor child was forced to go twice a day to fetch water from a place a mile or more from the house, and carry back a large jug filled to the brim. As she was standing one day by this spring, a poor woman came up to her, and asked the girl to give her some water to drink. “Think I’ll go along then,” stated Bob as casually as possible. “I’ve never been up that way and I’d like to see the country that the lake will cover.” On the morning preceding the day of her consecration, she was informed that a stranger enquired for her at the grate. Her mind had been so long accustomed to the vicissitudes of apprehension, that fear was the emotion which now occurred; she suspected, yet scarcely knew why, that the marquis was below, and hesitated whether to descend. A little reflection determined her, and she went to the parlour—where, to her equal joy and surprise, she beheld—Ferdinand!.

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Of owning a superb estate, By some chance the next picture was a lurid western romance in which Indians and cowboys were all jumbled together with furious riding and rescues of the beautiful heroine. Of course, the Indians in the picture were the villains. As the film unfolded the Mexicans grew more excited over the story and Bob noticed that they began to throw slighting remarks towards the Indian sitting directly in front of him. “That’s right,” said the rancher; “Greasers are all like that. If they start to rustle off some of our cattle they go in and take a big bunch. Don’t seem to make much difference what sort they lift. They just take the nearest to hand.” He grew serious. “I want to tell you boys it’s getting bad. I had more cattle stole the last two year than ever before. I wish the United States would make up its mind to go into Mexico and clean out that bunch of thieves. It’s the only way we’ll ever get any peace here on the border.” Rapidly Bob sketched out what he had learned during the past few days and related briefly the adventure that had befallen him the day before. As to Jerry’s part in the mix-up, he said as little as possible, but of course it could not be entirely hushed up. As Bob was talking, Mr. Taylor took the telephone receiver off the hook and called a number..