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After this vigorous onslaught upon the quondam admirer of Nell, Mrs. Wopp ordered Moses to help her prepare the spare room on the ground-floor for the young rancher.,

“Any one else?”,

“Cows have a long tale. They wave it and it keeps there back cool, sometimes they wave it to keep off flies and other insecks. Cows cannot run as fast as a hoarse but if she is chasing you she seems to be running very fast. If she chases you pick up a tin can or pale and hit on it with a stone. The cow will then stampeed. Cows have four feet called hoofs. They are useful for walking this is all I know about cows.”,

“Now who wants to ride the camel? Who wants to ride the swayin’ tossin’ ship of the desert?” Betty turned to her swarming audience; then to Moses she whispered as though she might be overheard, “You step forward an’ pay me two bits fer a ride.” Moses put a ticket into Betty’s hand and, not to be outdone in bravery, mounted the single-humped camel. Molly forgot her training in the sandy desert and lurched sadly.

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The whole garden had been fenced in as a precaution against the encroachment of predatory animals. Molly, the inquisitive black cow, or Josh and Jake, who had no proper sense of the fitness of things, would have liked nothing better than to sample Mrs. Wopp’s prize turnips and scanty crop of Indian corn, and to trample into the soft earth whatever did not suit their dainty palates.,

But even as he looked he saw two people coming; his mother and Jean, crossing the foot-bridge that led to the pasture side of the river. The throbbing in his head, the stifled lungs, interest in the capture of the prisoners,—all faded before this terrible dread.,

May Nell! Where was she? He had forgotten her! It must be three—four— Oh, how late was it? Was she safe? Or had she fainted from fright; and was she lying there now, helpless? He looked across the plashing river to the green, blossoming isle, grateful for water and grass and green shrub, and the sheltering Lodge that would keep her safe from the fire. Yet the terror of being there alone, of seeing that awful sheet of flame sweep down the mountain to her very feet,—perhaps a fainting spell,—that surely must have followed,—with no one there to revive her, it might be—fatal!,

“You’re George Rideout Smith’s kid, ain’t you?”