No man can make a slave of me. I thought he understood that; but it seems he didn’t. He’s all right in many ways—one of the best riders in the country—but he’s pretty tolerable domineering—I’ve always known that—still, I never expected him to talk to me like he did to-day. It certainly was raw.” She broke off abruptly. “You mustn’t let Frank Meeker get the best of you, either,” she advised. “He’s a mean little weasel if he gets started. I’ll bet he put Cliff up to this business.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, he just as good as told me he’d do it. I know Frank, he’s my own cousin, and someways I like him; but he’s the limit when he gets going. You see, he wanted to get even with Cliff and took that way of doing it. I’ll ride up there and give him a little good advice some Saturday.”

He was no longer amused by her blunt speech, and her dark look saddened him. She seemed so unlike the happy girl he met that first day, and the change in her subtended a big, rough, and pitiless world of men against which she was forced to contend all her life.

Mrs. McFarlane greeted Norcross with cordial word and earnest hand-clasp. “I’m glad to see you looking so well,” she said, with charming sincerity.

“I’m browner, anyway,” he answered, and turned to meet McFarlane, a short, black-bearded man, with fine dark eyes and shapely hands—hands that had never done anything more toilsome than to lift a bridle rein or to clutch the handle of a gun. He was the horseman in all his training, and though he owned hundreds of acres of land, he had never so much as held a plow or plied a spade. His manner was that of the cow-boss, the lord of great herds, the claimant of empires of government grass-land. Poor as his house looked, he was in reality rich. Narrow-minded in respect to his own interests, he was well in advance of his neighbors on matters relating to the general welfare, a curious mixture of greed and generosity, as most men are, and though he had been made Supervisor at a time when political pull still crippled the Service, he was loyal to the flag. “I’m mighty glad to see you,” he heartily began. “We don’t often get a man from the sea-level, and when we do we squeeze him dry.”

His voice, low, languid, and soft, was most insinuating, and for hours he kept his guest talking of the East and its industries and prejudices; and Berrie and her mother listened with deep admiration, for the youngster had seen a good deal of the old world, and was unusually well read on historical lines of inquiry. He talked well, too, inspired by his attentive audience.

Berrie’s eyes, wide and eager, were fixed upon him unwaveringly. He felt her wonder, her admiration, and was inspired to do his best. Something in her absorbed attention led him to speak of things so personal that he wondered at himself for uttering them.

“I’ve been dilettante all my life,” was one of his confessions. “I’ve traveled; I’ve studied in a tepid sort of fashion; I went through college without any idea of doing anything with what I got; I had a sort of pride in keeping up with my fellows; and I had no idea of preparing for any work in the world. Then came my breakdown, and my doctor ordered me out here. I came intending to fish and loaf around, but I can’t do that. I’ve got to do something or go back home. I expected to have a chum of mine with me, but his father was injured in an automobile accident, so he went into the office to help out.”

As he talked the girl discovered new graces, new allurements in him. His smile, so subtly self-derisive, and his voice so flexible and so quietly eloquent, completed her subjugation. She had no further care concerning Clifford—indeed, she had forgotten him—for the time at least. The other part of her—the highly civilized latent power drawn from her mother—was in action.