Anne lay with closed eyes for a long time revolving many plans for the ultimate harmony of that summer, and when she finally allowed herself to sleep, she had a scheme that she was going to try the next day.

As she came from her room early in the morning, she spied Polly sitting disconsolately on the porch-steps. She went over and sat down beside her.

"Polly, I cannot blame you for wishing we had never come, but now that we are here, let us see if we cannot make something out of the tangle of disappointments. Eleanor will love the place at once, as she is so much like you in nature, dear, but Bob always grumbles over things at first. No matter where or what it is, she feels that she is not showing her superiority if she is not condemning what she comes in contact with. It really is a disease, Polly, and I have tried to cure her of it this last year. I am hoping for great things for her during this season, but I feel that I must confide in you to let you know just what the trouble is. Bob will make a fine woman if this hateful tendency is uprooted in time."

Polly smiled wanly, and Anne, wise young teacher, changed the subject then.

"What a pity one has to waste such glorious views and delightful weather while sitting at breakfast in the kitchen!"

"Where would you eat it?" laughed Polly, looking with amusement at her companion.

"Why, under that lovely group of oaks, to be sure," replied the teacher, pointing at the trees that shaded the well-kept grass plot and flower-beds at the side of the house.

"Under the trees!"

"Certainly; what do you suppose they were grown for if not for our uplift and joy?"

"Why, Miss Stewart, how funny of you! Who ever heard of having meals out-of-doors—except at picnics," laughed Polly.

"Every one who can now prefers out-of-doors to a stuffy room on summer days," replied Anne, calmly, but watching the effect of her words.

Satisfied with Polly's expression, she added: "Didn't you ever read about the garden parties of society people, and the present-day trend to live on wide porches and out-of-doors at every opportunity? Your magazines ought to be full of such accounts."

"Oh, yes, in magazines, but I never dreamed it was true. I've studied every plan and picture I've seen in the magazines, and I loved to picture the beautiful places and furnishings they speak of."

Anne had heard from Polly's brother John, how his sister studied every item on decorating that could be found in papers or periodicals. But Anne did not know that Polly really had a latent talent in this line nor how ambitious she was to express art and beauty in the home.

"That is what I'd like to try here. Have our meals out under those trees. It won't make much extra work as the spot is very convenient to the kitchen door, but we will avoid the heat and steam from the stove and cooking, and have much more room, too."

"I don't suppose it makes much difference where we eat as long as we get it over with as soon as possible," returned Polly.

"That's just the trouble with most people. They merely eat because they feel they have to, but they never stop to make of the habit an opportunity to improve themselves and enjoy a social meeting with each other. We may as well be Zulus and eat with our fingers. Maybe the Zulus would prove more ideal for their home teachings than we really are."

Polly laughed again at Anne's words, but the latter added:

"It's true, Polly. How many people trouble themselves to eat politely, and act or talk from the highest motives? The Zulus follow traditional customs. If we did we would follow the refined court manners of our English and Dutch ancestors. Instead, we are in such haste to eat and get back to the business of making money, that we lose all the pleasure along the way there."

Polly listened anxiously and understood that Anne was gently criticizing what she saw and heard in the kitchen the night before. Anne watched Polly's face and knew she comprehended, then she continued:

"If we have breakfast in the open air it will be much cooler for every one, and Sary need not stop her routine work on account of our being in her way in the kitchen. If we help and wait on ourselves Sary need not be delayed by our tardiness in appearing at table."

"Miss Stewart, I think you're right. And one good thing about eating out here is that we won't feel crowded together with nothing to look at but each other. At least we have the mountains, if we make the oak-trees our new dining-room."

Anne laughed at the manner of Polly's approval and said: "Yes, Polly, the mountains are great and wonderful and so silent, besides."

"Let's go now and ask Maw what she thinks of the plan."

"In a moment, Polly. You know I am anxious to help you in every way, and to teach you if you express yourself poorly?"

"Yes; that's the only good thing about this awful visit," admitted the girl.

"Then allow me to correct an error in speech. If you wish to go to
Denver High this fall, I want you to use refined expressions."

Anne looked at her companion and smiled kindly, and Polly said: "Oh,
I'll be so glad to correct any mistakes. Tell me what?"

"Just now you called your mother 'Maw.' And I have heard you call your father 'Paw.' They are western terms, but they are not considered correct or refined, elsewhere. The name of Father or Mother is a term of respect and loving reverence from the children. I would like to have you accustom yourself to the use of these titles for your parents and see how the very sound of it will cause you to feel more affection."

Polly weighed this news thoughtfully but she was surprised at the information that her customary "Maw" and "Paw" were not the most desirable terms to use. She knew that Anne Stewart knew better than she what was the proper manner of speech and she thanked her for her interest in helping her.

"Then another thing I want you to do, Polly, is that you call me 'Anne.' I am to be with you as one of the family all this summer, and the 'Miss' is too formal for members in the same family. I want to ask this favor of your mother and father too. If you were to use Eleanor's and Barbara's first names for them as I do, I think they would feel more at home."

"Oh, Miss—I mean Anne, I will love to call you that, but I never could have courage enough to call that proud girl by the name of 'Bob'!" declared Polly.

Anne laughed and patted her apt pupil on the head, then she said, "Shall we go in search of your mother and ask about the breakfast table?"

Polly jumped up and led the way to the kitchen door where Sary was hard at work.

"Sary, can you tell us where my mother is?" asked Polly.

"Your maw's just went to th' buttery to skim the milk," said she, giving Polly an opportunity to compare the two terms.

As the two girls went toward the buttery, Polly admitted: "Anne, it does make a difference, I think."

Anne nodded brightly and opened the creamery-door. Mrs. Brewster stood with skimmer in hand, taking the rich cream from the pans of milk. She looked up with a welcoming smile as the two girls came in.

"Mother, Anne's been giving me 'first aid' in manners," laughed Polly, watching her mother's expression keenly.

"In which line, dear; there are several you can improve in," rejoined
Mrs. Brewster, with a loving little laugh.

"Didn't you hear me? I have improved upon your name."

"I noticed it, but I wanted to make sure it was intentional and not a mistake."

"Tell me—do you like it?" asked Polly, eagerly.

"Indeed I do, dear; I never could abide that name of 'Maw' and 'Paw' that is common with the ranchers."

"Then why didn't you tell me this long ago! Oh, mother!"

"If I corrected you, and the other children at school heard you use different terms from those they were accustomed to, they would think you 'proud' and 'too good for a rancher.' I have heard that criticism so often, that I have given up trying to better conditions or express my own desires in anything that an illiterate and inexperienced neighbor may find fault with. I just accept things as they are, now, but hope for better things for my children."

This was a new light on her mother, and Polly felt subdued by it. She wondered if her mother would have been any different if she had been in Mrs. Maynard's place.

"You see," continued Mrs. Brewster, turning to Anne, "one so gets to dread the free speech and narrow-minded opinions of some ranchers that one forbears in everything, rather than have strife and ill-will from those one must meet at times."

Anne nodded. "But sometimes it is better to take the risk of offending the whole community if one finally wins out."

Mrs. Brewster looked approvingly at the girl, and Polly changed the conversation by saying:

"Mother, Anne and I have a plan that will surprise you."

Mrs. Brewster smiled encouragingly for the girls to speak.

"It's just this: we think it will be lovely to move the table out under the trees. There the air and view can be enjoyed and afford us ample subjects for conversation," explained Anne.

"Anne, splendid! After my experience of last night I would hail any change. But this is really good. I never thought of it myself," replied Mrs. Brewster, with relief.

On their walk to the kitchen, they planned to remove the table and chairs; then Mrs. Brewster added: "My husband breakfasted an hour ago but said he would be back when we sat down for coffee. He enjoys a second cup at his leisure. And I'm quite sure Sary gave Jeb his breakfast after I left the kitchen, so that gives us a clear start for the first meal to-day."

Sary was found upon her knees before the kitchen range, polishing the nickel name-plate on the oven door. A dish-pan of hot water and a scrubbing brush stood upon the floor beside her. As Mrs. Brewster came in, Sary glanced up impatiently.

"Ah de'clar t' goodness! Ah wish you-all'd eat that brekfus an' vamoose outen my way. Ah hes t' scrub this hull floor soon ez th' stove's shined!"

"That's exactly why I came in, Sary—to get breakfast out of your way," returned Mrs. Brewster, sending a swift glance at Polly and Anne.

As Sary's words made way for their work, all fell to with a vim. Polly and Anne carried dishes and chairs out of the room, while Mrs. Brewster whisked off the cloth and asked the maid to help her carry the table out under the trees.

No reply came from Sary, and the mistress turned to see why she did not come to assist. The ludicrous expression on the widow's face, as she sat bolt upright with her blackened hands raised heavenward in silent protest, made Mrs. Brewster laugh.

"What's the matter, Sary?"

"Yore a clar case o' bein' locoed!" gasped the help.

"Not at all, but you want to scrub the floor, don't you?"

"Ah don't need th' furnishin's taken out fer that!"

"But we want to eat, you see, and under the trees we'll be quite out of your way. Here, Anne, help me with the table, will you, please?" said Mrs. Brewster, with finality.

The table was firmly placed under the trees and the cloth relaid. Then the willowware dishes and old Tuttle silver were arranged by Anne, while Polly watched eagerly.

"I do believe those old blue dishes look ten times as nice out here as in the kitchen!" declared Polly, while Anne placed a few wild flowers on the center of the table.

"Merely the effect of your mental testimony, Polly. In the kitchen, with steam, working utensils, and crowed sense of room, everything takes on a sordid look and feeling. But out in God's sunshine and fresh air, everything looks and feels better. That is why sun and air are the best physician for any ill," explained Anne.

Mrs. Brewster heard, and watched Anne with a bright smile, as the sentiment of the words were exactly what she ofttimes thought. When the three returned to the kitchen to take the biscuits and other breakfast food out, Sary stood with head thrown back and body rocking back and forth as she laughed immoderately.

"Do tell, Mis' Brewster! You-all bean't goin' t' eat out thar, now be yuh?"

"Why, of course!" retorted Polly.

"Why shouldn't we?" asked Mrs. Brewster.

Sary could not explain, so she turned to the stove while mumbling to herself the doubts she had over the sanity of the women-folks of this queer family—excepting herself of course!

Anne had gone to the guest-room to call the girls, and to her relief, found them both dressed and ready for breakfast.

"It's a lovely morning," said she, in greeting to them.

"Yes, I've been sniffing the sweetness at the open window," replied
Eleanor, but Barbara stood unresponsive.

Anne noticed the simple-looking house-frocks they wore, and felt relieved at the simplicity of color and lines, although she knew that the name-tag inside of those dresses spoke silently of their cost.

"We're going to breakfast out on the lawn—it is perfectly charming there," explained Anne, leading the way from the living-room by way of the front door in order to avoid Sary and her scrub-pail.

But Sary had been anxiously peeping from the crack of the kitchen door, and felt mortally offended when the company went out by the front way. "Was it not enough that the folks were too far removed from the kitchen to permit Sary to overhear what was said at table, but now they have to walk out at the Sunday door?"

So thought the widow as she left her peep-hole back of the door and stood watching from the open window by the cupboard.

Every one seemed in a pleasanter mood than that of the previous evening, and as breakfast advanced, Eleanor went so far as to ask her sister to remain at the ranch a few days, at least. And Barbara, although she would not admit it, knew the bed was exceptionally good and the breakfast most enjoyable, while the air and scenery were simply wonderful!

When Mr. Brewster came along the path leading from the barn, he stood near a lilac bush for a few moments watching the pretty group under the trees. But he couldn't understand having breakfast outside the usual place—the kitchen!

"Is this a picnic?" asked he, at length, coming forward.

"Good morning, Paw—Father! Isn't this fun?" cried Polly.

Mrs. Brewster and Anne exchanged glances at Polly's error and correction, but Sam Brewster failed to notice the new term. He bowed to the three guests and smilingly took the chair his wife placed for him at the table.

While Mrs. Brewster poured his coffee, she remarked: "This is Polly's and Anne's idea. Isn't it sensible—and much pleasanter than in the stuffy kitchen?"

He nodded approval and Polly felt satisfied. Then as her father sipped his fragrant coffee, she said: "Anne was just saying that I ought to show them the Rainbow Cliffs after breakfast."

"It's so clear to-day Ah wouldn't be surprised but what you-all will see Pagoda Peak and Grizzly Slide from the Cliffs, Polly," added Mr. Brewster.

"If we can, they'll like it; it's a wonderful sight, Anne, with the sun shining on the snow-capped crests," explained Polly.

"And then you can take them over there some day, Polly. A good lunch can be packed into Choko's panniers, and with sure-footed horses the ride will be most delightful," added Mrs. Brewster.

"Maw, you can go, too. You agreed to take things easy, you know," reminded her husband.

"Oh, Sam! Riding over the Flat Top Mountains would be the hardest work for me, these days!" laughed Mrs. Brewster.

"Pshaw now! You used to ride better than any cow-boy in these parts, and you can't tell me those days are past," argued Mr. Brewster, dropping the habit of using western terms in his eagerness.

"I've heard of Mrs. Brewster's famous riding," now chimed in Anne.

"She can ride better'n Pa—Father, or any one I ever saw!" Polly maintained.

Mrs. Brewster shook her head in a vain effort to discourage such praise, then she turned to the Maynard girls, saying: "Do you understand western horses? They are rather difficult at times, you know."

"We ride daily when in Chicago," said Barbara, boastfully.

"But city horses are mere nags, Bob. These half-wild animals accustomed to roaming the plains, are something worth while, you will find," laughed Anne.

"I'd advise your going to the corral and having Jeb try out the horses for you, before you undertake any long jaunt," suggested Mrs. Brewster.

"We can visit the Cliffs this morning, and try riding this afternoon," added Polly eagerly.

"Then Bob and I will have to get our habits from one of the trunks in the barn," said Eleanor.

"Bob and you run along and do that while Polly and I make the beds and clear away the breakfast," ventured Anne, looking at Mrs. Brewster. Barbara seemed as interested as any one.

So Barbara and Eleanor followed Mr. Brewster to the barn to point out the trunk they wanted to open, while Polly cleared the table and Mrs. Brewster went with Anne to make the beds. As they worked in the guest-room, they exchanged confidences about the two visitors.

"It seems the lovely morning has had a salutary effect on Barbara's feelings regarding Pebbly Pit," ventured Anne.

"I hope so," replied Mrs. Brewster, diffidently.

"You see, Eleanor is broad-minded—more like her father, but Bob takes too much after her mother to adapt herself readily to such a radical change as a ranch," continued Anne, apologetically.

"Eleanor appears to be a nice girl."

"Bob will shortly be as satisfied as Nolla, but she just can't let go of herself and her foolish training in a minute. If we have a few pleasant outings to show her how really wonderful the country is, she will open out in her natural sweet self."

"It certainly isn't a pleasant surprise, to expect a modern fashionable Summer Resort and then find a forgotten nook in the pit of an extinct volcano," laughed Mrs. Brewster, humorously.

"Yes, Bob was terribly upset last night. I fancy she was regretting those seven trunks filled with expensive clothes," added Anne, smiling at the remembrance.

"I can't but wonder that such a sensible girl as you seem to be, can be so fond of a girl so different from you in every way," remarked Mrs. Brewster, looking Anne in the eyes.

Anne flushed. "When you know her as I do, you will see that she really is not snobbish, but only assumes it. As I said, she is the result of silly training by a society mother. I have seen the genuine nature buried by habits and I am willing to help her bring it out to establish it permanently. Nolla will develop herself, if she is allowed to express herself without constant ridicule or reprimands. This summer ought to do wonders for both those girls."

Mrs. Brewster showed her approval by nodding her head affirmatively at
Anne.

"You had ample time to study the two girls last winter when they were in Denver, I suppose," suggested Mrs. Brewster.

"Yes, I was with them most of the time, and the result of the erroneous influence over Bob was always noticeable after a short visit from Mrs. Maynard. She only visited her daughters twice in the eight months, but it was generally so unpleasant a time for every one, that we were relieved that she had too many social engagements to come oftener." Anne bent down to tuck in the sheets as she spoke so frankly concerning her friends' mother.

"But I must not disparage Mrs. Maynard in your eyes—you may find in her many fine qualities that have been hidden from me," quickly added Anne, fearing she had given her hostess a wrong idea.

"Perhaps they are hidden very deep."

Anne laughed. "Mr. Maynard is just splendid. He is so human! He must have found the good qualities in his wife, and she, doubtless, permitted herself to be misled by vain aspirations to reach a social height offered by her husband's success in business."

"Love is blind, Anne. When a man fancies himself in love with a pretty girl, he seldom seeks for lasting qualities or a strong character. He accepts the transitory beauty as the real thing and wakes up, too late, to find he entertained a dream."

"I think you and I feel alike in this problem; my friends laugh at my—what they call—unreasonable opinions on marriage," said Anne, eagerly inviting a discussion with Mrs. Brewster.

"Some other day, Anne. We still have the task before us of acclimating the city girls," laughed Mrs. Brewster, taking Anne by the arm and leading her from the room.