I’ve got Struthers in jumpers, and she’s learning how to handle a team. Whinnie laughed at her legs, and said they made him think a-muckle o’ a heron. But men are scarce in this section, and it looks as though Alabama Ranch was going to have a real wheat crop. Whinnie boasts that we’re three weeks ahead of Casa Grande, which, they tell me, is taking on a neglected look.

I’ve had no message from my Dinky-Dunk, and no news of him. All day long, at the back of my brain, a nervous little mouse of anxiety keeps nibbling and nibbling away. Last night, when she was helping me get the Twins ready for bed, Struthers confided to me that she felt sure Lady Alicia and my husband had been playmates together in England at one time, for she’s heard them talking, and laughing about things that had happened long ago. But it’s not the things that happened long ago that are worrying me. It’s the things that may be happening now.

I wonder what the fair Lady Alicia intends doing about getting her crop off. Sing Lo will scarcely be the man to master that problem.... The Lord knows I’m busy enough, but I seem to be eternally waiting for something. I wonder if every woman’s life has a larval period like this? I’ve my children and Bobs. Over my heart, all day long, should flow a deep and steady current of love. But it’s not the kind I’ve a craving for. There’s something missing. I’ve been wondering if Dinky-Dunk, even though he were here at my side, would still find any “kick” in my kisses. I can’t understand why he never revealed to me the fact that he and Lady Allie were playmates as children. In that case, she must be considerably older than she looks. But old or young, I wish she’d stayed in England with her croquet and pat-tennis and broom-stick-cricket, instead of coming out here and majestically announcing that nothing was to be expected of a country which had no railway porters!