“We didn’t get that letter.  When did you write?”

“Last night.”

“That’s good.  Always take time by the fetlock.  We’ll get that letter some time to-morrow.  Why didn’t you wait and write us to meet you after you got here?”

“Saucy as ever, Ben.  But we’re positively starved.  Hello, Song!” she called to the Chinese cook, who was standing on the veranda grinning like a heathen idol, “got anything good to eat?”

“Yes, missee, plenty good glub.  Mebbeso you likee some fried ham and eggs?” said Song, shaking hands with himself and bowing low.

“Ham and eggs!  No!  Positively, no!  I’ll be turning into a ham and egg if I get any more of it.  That’s all the cook at the ranch knows how to do.  Anything else?”

“Yes, missee.  Plenty paltlidge, what Misto Ted shootee lesterday.  I cookee you some plenty quick.”

“All right, Song, cook us some partridges.”

The boys stood around in a group of admiring servitors waiting to carry Stella’s hand bag and gun and saddle and other things with which she was burdened.

Suddenly she looked toward the porch.

“Who’s that?” she asked breathlessly, pointing to a little girl who stood shyly beside a post looking on.

“Why, that’s Lilian,” said Ted.  “I didn’t know you were up yet,” he called to the little girl.  “Come here, dear, and see Stella.  You haven’t forgotten Stella, have you?”

“If it isn’t Lilian!” cried Stella, rushing toward the child with wide-open arms and folding her within them.

“I wouldn’t have known you, honey,” said Stella.  “What have you boys been doing to her?  She’s improved so much.  Where did you get all these clothes, and who takes care of her?”

“Isn’t she a little beauty?” asked Ted Strong proudly, patting the head of the blushing little girl.

“But how did you do it?” persisted Stella.

“Oh, I went over and saw Mrs. Bingham, the major’s wife, at the fort, and asked her to come and advise us what to do.  She came and was delighted with Lilian, and promised to oversee her wardrobe.  She was going down to Omaha, and when she returned she had a trunk full of things for Lil.  She also brought a colored woman to look after her, and Mirandy has proved a blessing and a treasure.”

“But the clothes didn’t make themselves.”

“No, and none of us made them, either, although Bud said he could sew, and insisted upon trying.  He cut up several yards of cloth, and at the end of the week, when we saw the product of his needle, he narrowly escaped lynching.  If Lilian had not interceded for Uncle Bud, of whom she is very fond, I’m afraid we’d have no little Buddy now.  No, we sent down to Omaha for a dressmaker and boarded her in town until she had Lil all fixed up, as becomes the heiress of the La Garita Mines.”

“Whose idea is this way of making the things?” demanded Stella, who was looking Lilian over with critical eyes.