Tabitha stood at the open window of Carrie's pretty room and looked out over the scorched landscape burning under the pitiless sun of late summer. But she did not see the scanty, shrivelled vegetation of the parched mountains, nor was she aware of the terrible heat of the day that seemed to have burned away the ambition of every living creature. On the floor beside the little white bed with its pink draperies sat Carrie, panting in the sultry atmosphere, and anxiously watching the figure beside the window, as she fanned herself with all the energy she could command.

"You aren't a bit glad, Puss," she said at last, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. But if Tabitha heard she gave no sign and the tears rose in the gentle blue eyes of the speaker. "I thought you would think it was nice." Still Tabitha made no reply, but kept her gaze fixed on the hot sands of the sizzling desert. "We have planned it out so often, and now when w—I can go, you don't like it."

Gulping back the lump that rose in her throat, the black-eyed girl by the window wheeled toward her playmate, now lying prostrate on the floor, and dropping on her knees beside her she exclaimed penitently,

"I am mean, Carrie! I am glad because you are going away to school, but—it is so hard to have you leave here—when I can't go, too. Ain't I selfish? It isn't as if it would be only for a week or even a month, but for whole years with only a few days here in the winter! And you're the only friend I ever had so near my own age!"

Tabitha was crying now and Carrie forgot her own disappointment in soothing the greater sorrow of her mate.

"Don't feel so bad, Puss; maybe you can go, too."

"No, I can't! There isn't any use of thinking that, Carrie Carson! It takes money to go to boarding school and Dad never has any any more. His claims take all he gets. I wish he would let the Cat Group go to Guinea and work for the Silver Legion like Mr. McKittrick does. Mercedes McKittrick is going next year. I want to go so much. I'm almost as far as I can get in this little mite of a school and I can't bear to think of growing up a know-nothing."

"You won't be a know-nothing, Puss, even if you never went to school another day. Papa says it is ambition that wins, and you're the most ambitious girl I ever knew. I'd like to go to boarding school for the fun of it, but I do hate to study. Papa thinks maybe—"

She hesitated, remembering that she had been cautioned not to tell his plans, for fear they might not be successful, but it was hard for Carrie to keep such a beautiful secret, when she felt so confident that this kind, big-hearted father would succeed in overcoming even Mr. Catt's prejudices in regard to a boarding-school education for his one small daughter.

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe—just maybe—he can get your father to let you go."

Tabitha was silent for a moment and the black eyes shone wistfully; then she answered with a heavy sigh, "There isn't the least chance of Dad's letting me go, Carrie. I know Dad. Didn't he tell Tom that if Tom wanted to go to college he would have to earn his own money, for he had no sympathy for 'higher education'? No, he won't let me go, I know; and besides, he hasn't the money."

"Papa will p—" began Carrie, and then stopped. She had intended to say, "pay all expenses," but before the words were spoken that might raise Tabitha's hopes again, she remembered that she must not tell this part of her father's plans, and was silent. But apparently Tabitha had not heard, for she was saying,

"Tom has worked hard and earned his money for the first year and now he is to go to Reno and live at Lincoln Hall maybe, while he studies. Perhaps he can go clear through college without stopping. He says he means to finish his course if it takes eight years to get through—but it means a heap of money for him to earn, and it will be a long time before he could help me any, and I can't draw maps for the surveyor or weigh those little gold buttons like Tom does to earn money. There aren't any berries around here to pick, and Dad won't let me hunt centipedes and scorpions to sell for specimens, like the boys do. Jack Leavitt has earned more than ten dollars that way. Jimmy Gates kills rattlesnakes for pay, but I'm afraid to do that, and I suppose Dad would object to that, too. There is really nothing on the desert that a girl can do to earn money."

Still Carrie was hopeful and tried to impart her optimism to her heavy-hearted companion.

"I believe something will happen yet, Puss, so you can go. I don't care about boarding school at all if you can't go too. Why, Puss, what would I do with no one to help me with my lessons? Papa and mamma won't be there to tell me how the horrid examples must be worked, and I might just as well stay at home if you don't go. I will never be able to see any sense in the lessons. You always make everything so clear."

Tabitha smiled in appreciation of the compliment, but was not comforted, for to her the hopelessness of the situation was very evident, and she changed the conversation by observing, "I think you have the sweetest dresses to wear there. Six new ones! Just think of it! I never in all my life had so many at one time, and I never had any so pretty. Two white ones, a pink, two blues and a brown—aren't they dear? And three real hats! You ought to be the happiest girl on earth, Carrie."

She bent over the bed where the new wardrobe was displayed, pretending to examine the dainty apparel, but in reality to hide the tears which would persist in gathering in her eyes at thought of separation from this playmate who had helped make life so happy for her since she had come to Silver Bow.

"Tabitha!"

How welcome that voice from across the road sounded just then when she wanted to get away and be alone for a time with her thoughts, and with a hasty hug of the rosy-cheeked girl still on the floor by the bed, she rushed out of the house to answer her aunt's call.

In the cool of the evening Tom found her sitting among the rocks high up on the mountainside, gazing with somber eyes into the golden west, for the ocean lay in that direction, and it was close to the seashore that Carrie was going away to school.

"What's the matter, Puss?" he asked gently, reading tragedy in her mournful attitude, and secretly wondering who would champion the little sister's cause when he had gone away to college.

"Nothing much, Tom," she answered, and then amended her statement; "that is, nothing that can be helped."

He sat down on the rock beside her and waited for her confession, but she was silent, and for a long time they sat staring off across the flat to the mountains beyond, where the afterglow of the brilliant sunset still hung and radiated from each peak. Then he spoke, "Puss, in two weeks I leave for the University. Did you know it?"

She nodded her head.

"Mr. Carson has just come home from Reno and he brought me all sorts of booklets and views of the place and particularly of the college buildings. Do you want to see them?"

"Yes!" She was all eagerness, for Tom's joys were hers, and his achievements the pride of her heart. So he laid a bundle of papers and pictures in her lap and drew nearer that he might make explanations and answer the questions she was sure to ask. "There is a High School there, too, Puss, and if I have success in earning more than enough money to put me through college, I will send for you and you will keep house for me and go to High School there. Then when you graduate from that department, you will be ready to go to college, and I will be earning a salary, or maybe have an office all my own, so I can help you through the University."

"That would be nice, Tom, ever so nice, but I am afraid you will never earn the money. It will take a heap. Carrie is going away to boarding school now, and I want to go with her, but Dad won't let me."

"So you know?" The relief in Tom's voice made Tabitha look up.

"Know what?"

"Have you seen Dad yet?"

"No, but then I know he never would let me go and there is no use in asking."

"Oh!"

"Tom, has he said anything to you about it?" asked Tabitha, for she could read this brother's face like a book, and understood now that there was more behind his words than he had told her. "No, Puss, not a word," he declared.

But she wasn't deceived, and after a moment of silence said, "Then Mr. Carson has."

"No, Mr. Carson hasn't mentioned it—to me."

The pause was hardly perceptible, but Tabitha's quick ears discerned it, and she triumphantly confronted Tom with the declaration, "You heard him ask Dad!"

"What a mind-reader you are!" he laughed.

"Now, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And Dad said I couldn't go?"

"Yes."

"I told Carrie that was what would happen." Her voice was very quiet, her face very calm, and the fierce outbreak he had expected did not come. He was amazed but he understood the struggle going on within that tempestuous heart, and was touched by her silent despair.

"Puss," he ventured after another long pause, "would you rather have me stay here with you instead of going to Reno?"

He held his breath for her answer and his heart beat wildly. How could he renounce his ambitions or even postpone their fulfilment when they meant so much to him? But his mother had left the little sister in his care, and he was all she had to love and help her over the rough path her feet had been treading all her short life. What would she do without him, particularly if Carrie was to go away, too? Miss Brooks had already gone and the Vanes might at any time return to their city home from their long sojourn in this little desert town. Tabitha would be bereft indeed if he went to college. These thoughts flashed through his mind as he asked that vital question and waited for her reply.

"Why, Tom!" she cried in utter surprise, "do you suppose I'd want you to stay here with me when you've got the chance to get a 'higher education'?" (Those words seemed to fascinate her.) "That's better than if I could go. You're a boy—a man, I mean—and you have to know lots to be a mining engineer like the surveyor. I'm just a little girl, and it doesn't matter whether I know anything or not. You must go to the University while you have the chance, Tom. I wish I could help you earn the money so you would be sure of the whole course—" "You precious little Puss!" he cried with a voice that would tremble in spite of his efforts to hold it steady, and slipping his arm around her he gave her a big, boyish hug. "Some day everything will come out all right and I am sure it won't be too late for boarding school and college either."

Unaccustomed to such demonstration even from the gentle-hearted boy who loved her so dearly, Tabitha sat looking shyly up at the tender brown eyes above her, thinking how nice it felt to have his protecting arm holding her close, when without warning, he stooped and kissed her full on the lips.

"Oh, Tom, you are the dearest brother! I am so glad you are going to college. Then you will grow up to be like Mr. Carson instead of like a—Catt."

"Dad went to college."

Tabitha was startled. "Why, Tom!"

"Yes, he did; but he was expelled for something another boy did, and then after he started to earn his own living, his partner cheated him out of his share in a valuable mine and—that's what makes him what he is now."

"How do you know this?" "Oh, I've remembered things I heard him or Aunt Maria say, and then today he told Mr. Carson some of the events of his life. He has been rather unfortunate right straight along. Only last New Year's someone 'jumped' one of his claims that he had somehow neglected to prove up on."

"I don't see why that should make him so—so—I'm glad you are different, Tom. Do you suppose he will keep on until he is like the hermit of the hills?"

"Who is the hermit of the hills? I never heard of him before."

"Why, yes, you have! He lives in that little shack over there;" pointing to a rough, dilapidated hut far down on the mountain side, built of odds and ends of lumber and pieced out with empty oil cans, rusted red with the rains of many winters. Made without windows or openings of any sort, except a narrow door on one side, it must have presented a very dreary, uninviting appearance to its one occupant, who was the only person who had ever seen its interior, for owing to his peculiar habits, people regarded him as crazy and left him severely alone. He had never been known to molest anyone, but sought rather to avoid meeting human beings, so he was suffered to remain there in his lonely hut on the mountain with no one but a stray cur for company.

"Oh, Surly Sim! I never heard him called such a fancy name before, Puss. How did you suppose I would recognize him?"

"'The hermit of the hills' is a much grander sounding name than 'Surly Sim,' and he does look so lonely off there by himself. I should hate to think of Dad shutting himself up like that and having folks say he was crazy. He is kind to animals."

"How do you know, Puss?" asked the boy, quickly, surveying his sister with apprehensive eyes. "You don't go over there, do you?"

"No, indeed. I'm scared of him. Besides, he runs if he sees anyone coming. Carrie and I were picking flowers the first time I ever knew he lived there, or that there was even a house over there. He saw us just as he climbed out of a hole—a prospect hole, I suppose—and he ran as tight as he could for the house and shut the door. We were scared and we ran the other way and never stopped until we got home. Mr. Carson told us about him then and said he had never hurt anyone, but he would rather we didn't go over there, for he thought the man was really crazy. Since then I have often sat up here and watched him when it wasn't too hot. He just thinks lots of the little dog he has, and it is awfully homely; hasn't any tail or ears and is the worst-looking color I ever saw."

Tom laughed at her earnestness. "Poor dog!"

"Well, you needn't laugh; it is homely, and so is the cat. He has my cat. I couldn't bear to keep it, Tom. Please don't look at me like that. I was awfully hateful to it, I know, but Dad would call it 'Pussy' and I couldn't bear the sight of it. When I made sure the man was kind to the dog, I chased the cat down there. I was afraid it would come back, like it always did when I shoved it into the prospect holes; but it must have liked him right away, for it stayed. Now he has an earless cat to go with the dog. That was long ago, Tom, before the Vanes ever came here to live. I wouldn't be so mean again, but I did hate that cat terribly then. I've never tried to coax it back because it was happier there, but I am truly sorry that I was ugly to it. I don't want people to hate me because I have such a horrid temper and name. I can't change the name, but I can hold on to my temper sometimes, though it is hard work and I don't get along very well."

"You are getting along a great deal better than you think, Puss, and people don't hate you. They like you more every day, which is better than going to boarding school, isn't it?"

"Y-e-s," hesitatingly, "but I would like mighty well to go with Carrie."

"Well, I think some day maybe you can. Come home now, it is getting dark and pretty soon we won't be able to see our way down through the mesquite."

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