“Well, what do you think of us for a jolly little band of usurpers, Mr. Farrel?”

“Why, I think I’m going to like you all very much if you’ll give me half a chance.”

“I’d give you almost anything rather than be kicked out of this house,” she replied, in her somewhat loud, high-pitched voice.  “I love it, and I think it’s almost sinful on your part to have bobbed up so unexpectedly.”

“Mother!” Kay cried reproachfully.

“Tut, tut, Kay, dear!  When an obnoxious heir is reported dead, he should have the decency to stay dead, although, now that our particular nuisance is here, alive and well, I suppose we ought to let bygones be bygones and be nice to him—­provided, of course, he continues to be nice to us.  Are you inclined to declare war, Mr. Farrel?”

“Not until every diplomatic course has been tried and found wanting,” he replied.

Carolina entered, bearing five portions of sliced oranges.

“O Lord, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” Mrs. Parker cried.  “Where is Murray?”

Farrel glanced down at his oranges and grinned.

“I’m afraid I excused Murray,” he confessed.

Mrs. Parker burst into shrill laughter.

“John,” she demanded of her husband, “what do you think of this young man?”

“Pick up the marbles, Mr. Farrel,” Parker replied, with poorly assumed good humor.  “You win.”

“I think this is a jolly adventure,” Kay struck in, quick to note the advantage of her outspoken mother’s course.  “Here you have been more than two months, mother, regarding yourself as the mistress of the Rancho Palomar, retinting rooms, putting in modern plumbing, and cluttering up the place with a butler and maids, when—­presto!—­overnight a stranger walks in and says kindly, ‘Welcome to my poor house!’ After which, he appropriates pa’s place at the head of the table, rings in his own cook and waitress, forces his own food on us, and makes us like it.  Young man, I greatly fear we’re going to grow fond of you.”

“You had planned to spend the summer here, had you not, Mrs. Parker?”

“Yes.  John Parker, have you any idea what’s going to become of us?”

“We’ll go to Santa Barbara and take rooms at a hotel there for the present,” he informed her.

“I loathe hotels,” she protested.

“I think I informed you, Mrs. Parker, that you are welcome to my poor house,” Farrel reminded her.  “I shall be happy to have you remain here until I go away.  After that, of course, you can continue to stay on without any invitation from me.”

Parker spoke up.

“My dear Mr. Farrel, that is charming of you!  Indeed, from all that we have heard of you, it is exactly the course we might expect you to take.  Nevertheless, we shall not accept of your kindness.  Now that you are here, I see no reason why I should impose the presence of my family and myself upon your hospitality, even if the court has given me the right to enter upon this property.  I am confident you are competent to manage the ranch until I am eliminated or come into final possession.”