At supper-time all the invalids were up; Kitty appearing rather "interestingly pale," as Amanda remarked; Debby hobbling about in padded bedroom slippers; and Grandmother Clyde looking somewhat older and grayer than usual, but calm and contained once more.

"Where are the boys?" asked the SeÑora, noting Alec's absence with some anxiety.

"They went off early this morning loaded for big game," said Uncle Joe with a twinkle in his eye.

"Do you mean they carried guns?" Mrs. Clyde spoke with a shade of worry in her tone; she had missed the twinkle.

"Shady had a shotgun, I believe, but the boys carried nothing deadlier than lariats. I believe young Trent takes one to bed with him. He's been practising on the snubbing-post in the corral for hours every day,—he's got so he catches it about once in so often, and he's tickled to death." Uncle Joe chuckled.

"Knight Judson can beat any of the Mexicans at lassoing," Blue Bonnet declared. "He must be a wonder when he has both hands free."

"He doesn't seem in any hurry to discard his sling, I notice," Uncle Joe remarked, winking at Blue Bonnet ostentatiously.

"His wrist isn't well yet," she insisted, ignoring the teasing glance.

"Here they come, now," exclaimed Kitty. "Alec looks as excited as if he'd killed a bear at the very least!"

"We've had a wonderful day," Alec declared, full of enthusiasm, when he and Knight had greeted every one and slipped into their places. Both boys were ravenous; Blue Bonnet and her grandmother exchanged a significant glance as Alec passed his plate for a second generous helping. He looked already a different boy from the pale student who had left Woodford only a few weeks before.

"Guess what we bagged to-day?" he asked.

"A bear!" Kitty said immediately.

"Quail!" Blue Bonnet guessed.

"Shady got some quail, but we didn't do any shooting," replied Alec.

"Maybe you and Knight lassoed some prairie-hens," suggested Uncle Joe, laughing at his own joke.

"Alec lassoed his first steer all right—made a neat job of it too," said Knight enthusiastically.

"Very amateurish work," Alec protested, pleased nevertheless at Knight's praise. "The steer thought I looked so harmless that he took a big chance—that's how I came to land him."

"But what did you 'bag?'" asked Blue Bonnet, going back to the original question. "Is it good to eat?"

Knight and Alec exchanged amused glances. "Never tasted them," both declared.

"Where is it?" Blue Bonnet persisted.

"'Tisn't 'it,'—but 'they'—and they're out in the barn," said Alec, delighting in the mystery.

Blue Bonnet was all impatience. "Oh, do hurry, everybody, and let's go see," she urged.

The rapidity with which Knight and Alec ate the rest of their supper should have given them indigestion, even if it did not. It was impossible to leave any of Gertrudis' raspberry tart; equally impossible to keep their hostess waiting when she was on tip-toe to be off; mastication therefore was the only thing they could neglect—and did.

Blue Bonnet had felt all the weight of her sixteen years a few hours earlier, but now she seemed to drop at least six of them, as she raced across the yard, impelled by a curiosity that Kitty would have died rather than display.

Don and Solomon were sniffing excitedly about one of the mangers, emitting an occasional shrill bark; Blue Bonnet went straight to it and peered down. It was too dark to make out anything, but she could hear a rustling in the hay, and a pathetic, low whine.

"It's something alive!" she cried, and was about to put an exploring hand down to find the source of the whine, when she had a second thought. "Will it bite?"

"Too little," Knight assured her. He bent as he spoke and lifted two little furry bundles and laid them in Blue Bonnet's outstretched arms.

"Puppies!" she cried delightedly. She bore them to the light, the other girls crowding about for a view of the wriggling mites.

After her first good look at them, Sarah gave an exclamation of surprise. "Why, they're not dogs," she cried.

"Yes, they are," said Alec, "—coyote pups!"

"Oh, the dears!" cried Blue Bonnet ecstatically. "Where did you get them?"

"Shady shot the mother," Knight explained, and then wished he had not,—Blue Bonnet looked so grieved. "She killed a calf a few nights ago," he said in extenuation, "and Shady was 'laying for' her. She made for her hole after she was wounded and we followed,—that's how we came to find the pups. Lucky we did or they'd have had a hard time of it."

"Poor babies," said Blue Bonnet. "Let's go and show them to Grandmother and Debby—I reckon they never saw a real live coyote before. Here, Sarah, you carry one." She generously held out one of the bright-eyed babies, but to her surprise Sarah drew back. "Why, you can't be afraid, Sarah?"

"N-no," Sarah replied, edging away as she spoke. "But I don't like to touch—live animals."

"Well, I'd much rather touch live ones than dead things!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet. "Here, Alec, you take the poor baby—Sarah doesn't know how to mother it!"

Grandmother and Debby were rather lukewarm in their praise, Blue Bonnet thought, when the coyotes were brought to them on the veranda. Grandmother did not look in the least delighted when the two sharp-nosed, long-haired puppies were dropped into her lap; and finally Blue Bonnet gathered them both in her arms, declaring that nobody knew how to appreciate real Texas babies except herself.

"I'm going to keep them always," she said. "And Don and Solomon will just have to be reconciled."

"Have you asked your uncle if he is willing for you to keep two such pets?" her grandmother asked.

Blue Bonnet looked over to Uncle Cliff and laughed. "Asked Uncle Cliff? Why, Grandmother, I brought him up and he knows better than to oppose me at this late day!"

Uncle Cliff smiled back at her whimsically. "I hope I'm a credit to your training! Two new pets is quite a modest demand. I've known her to have a dozen or two at a time. One summer she had twin lambs, a magpie, a lizard, bunnies—"

"Don't forget the snakes," Blue Bonnet interrupted.

"Blue Bonnet Ashe—you never made pets of snakes!" gasped Debby.

"Three of them; beauties, too," Blue Bonnet replied.

"Weren't you afraid of them?" Sarah asked wonderingly.

"These were perfectly harmless; nobody should be afraid of such pretty little things. But the magpie had fits over them, so they had to go," Blue Bonnet remarked regretfully.

"What became of the magpie?" asked Kitty.

"Poor Mag died of curiosity," said Mr. Ashe. "She sampled some cyanide of potassium I had put out for ants. We had a most impressive funeral. You must get Blue Bonnet to show you her grave."

"I will some day. We chose Mag's favorite spot—under a dewberry bush. Now what shall we call these cherubs?"

"You've just called them 'Texas babies,' why not call one 'Texas?'" Knight suggested.

"And the other 'Massachusetts,'" said Sarah.

Blue Bonnet looked at her in open admiration. "Your inspirations don't come often, Sarah," she remarked, "but they're as apt as not to be positively brilliant when they get here! Texas and Massachusetts the babies shall be. Poor Massachusetts' name is as long as his tail, but maybe he can bear up under it."

"Let's go show them to the youngsters," Alec suggested. "Pancho's twins are straining their eyes for a peep."

Blue Bonnet gave him one of the pups to carry and together they crossed the yard to the Mexican quarters. A moment later Blue Bonnet was sitting in the doorway of the little adobe hut, the coyotes in her lap, while all of Pancho's brood, not to mention Pancho and his fat Marta, were hanging about her in an eager, admiring circle. Every little "greaser" on the ranch adored the SeÑorita, and she was godmother to half the babies born on the place. Alec bade fair to be almost as popular as she, for he was always ready for a romp and had an unfailing supply of nuts in his capacious pockets. The visit now ended in a "rough-house," Alec with his ever-handy lariat lassoing the fleet-footed boys and pretending to take them prisoner, while they dodged and ran and kept up a shrill chorus of baby Spanish that delighted his soul.

Later he and Blue Bonnet walked to the stable and put the coyotes down for the night; choosing the unused manger again as being secure against the impertinent investigations of Don and Solomon, and deep enough to prevent the venturesome babies from falling out. It was almost dark as they strolled back towards the house, lingering and chatting and drinking in the beauty of the night. The lovely southern sky was studded with stars; the breeze laden with perfumes that only a Texas prairie knows; and the air full of melody,—the deep laughter of the cowboys lounging about the bunk-house, and the sweet tone of Shady's fiddle as he played to the crowd on the house-veranda.

Alec paused and drew a deep breath. "And you wanted to leave it!"

"I wonder at myself sometimes," she confessed. "But I'm not sorry. Think how much richer I am this summer than last, with Grandmother and all the girls,—not to mention present company!"

"Thank you!" Alec laughed and made his bow.

"You like it more because it is—different, than for any other reason. I reckon you have to know other places before you can properly appreciate your own," she went on thoughtfully.

"This doesn't seem to add to my appreciation of—Woodford," Alec rejoined quickly.

"That's because you haven't been here long enough. After a few years you'd begin to wonder how the elms look on Adams Avenue, and yearn for a glimpse of the Boston Common—just as I used to long for a sight of the prairie. But I'm glad you like it here—for it is a grand old place!"

"I wish Grandfather would rejoice because I like it," he remarked moodily. "He seems to be sorry that I didn't go abroad with Boyd. And Boyd's letters to him—which he always forwards—are full of ravings about automobiles and scenery and pictures. Pictures!" Alec pointed to the meadow ahead of them where a million fireflies flashed their tiny lanterns, "—I wish he could see this! And I wish—I wish I could make him understand the bigness of it all. And how tired I am of sitting still and letting other people do things. I want to live." The boy's voice trembled as he ended.

Again Blue Bonnet had a sudden sinking of the heart—could Alec mean—? She opened her lips to speak, but he went on gloomily:

"Grandfather doesn't seem able to understand. He has never been willing to admit that I am a weakling, and refuses to see that my days are numbered in Woodford. I've been trying to get up courage enough to write him about myself, but I can't do it—yet." And then, as if fearing he had said too much, he added: "But don't say anything to the others, please. It's too soon—I may feel different by the end of the summer. Let it be a secret between us two—three rather, for I've already told Knight." Then, before Blue Bonnet could gather herself together for a reply, he had started on a new tack. "I tell you, Blue Bonnet, there's a fellow that dwarfs every other chap I ever knew!" His tone was now as eager and enthusiastic as it had been doleful.

Blue Bonnet was puzzled, but deciding that Alec needed to have his mind turned from introspective subjects, she took him up at once. "I agree with you. He's a giant for his age."

"I don't mean his size," returned Alec. "He's so big—mentally, you know. And he's so alive, so—"

"Up and coming?" interpolated Blue Bonnet. "That's pure Texan, I believe."

"It describes him exactly."

"What I can't understand is how such an expert horseman came to be thrown," Blue Bonnet remarked wonderingly.

"I suppose he was startled at seeing a blue bonnet out of season!" laughed Alec. "I'm so glad something happened to bring him my way. It seems to give me a new lease on life just to be with him."

"Uncle Cliff says he is 'greased lightning' with a lariat," said Blue Bonnet.

"I should say he is. I could find it in my heart to envy him that accomplishment, even if he hadn't any others."

"Uncle Joe says you are getting quite expert yourself," she threw out comfortingly.

"Oh, yes, I can lasso a snubbing-post that can't get out of the way!" he retorted. He still clung to his lariat and now swung it in his hand rather impatiently.

"Try your skill now. There's one of the girls waiting for us—lasso her and see how she acts!" Blue Bonnet urged mischievously.

"Where?"

"There—just by the magnolia," she whispered.

It was almost dark, but Alec could manage to make out a dark figure standing half within the shadow of the big tree. He crept silently a few steps nearer and paused, whirling the loop around his head. The hair rope spread into a circle, hissed and flickered for a moment in the air, then dropped straight over the victim. It was a good throw. Alec gave a twitch—not too hard—to the lariat, and the thing was done. Blue Bonnet clapped her hands and started forward with Alec to see which one of the girls he had caught. Both suddenly stopped in dismay. There was a struggle, a shrill scream, and a very angry Spanish oath.

And as the two of them hastened up full of surprise and apologies, they saw—Juanita and Miguel both caught in the one noose.

Stifling their laughter, Alec and Blue Bonnet released the embarrassed pair of sweethearts, and then the boy made a handsome apology. Juanita hung her head and was silent, but Miguel, after the first blazing up of his anger, cooled down and accepted the explanation in good part.

Still weak with suppressed laughter, the two miscreants hurried on, waiting to be out of ear-shot before giving way to their wild mirth. As they drew near to the veranda they heard the crowd there singing to the accompaniment of Shady's violin.

It was too much. Blue Bonnet collapsed in a heap on the grass.

"Oh, Alec!" she gasped. "Miguel ought to have been singing that,—only he ought to have said—'Jua-a-an-ita, bless my soul if we can part!'"