He encountered Lucy in the kitchen, and he did not avoid her.  He could tell from her smiling greeting that he seemed to her his old self again.  Lucy wore an apron and she had her sleeves rolled up, showing round, strong, brown arms.  Somehow to Bostil she seemed different.  She had been pretty, but now she was more than that.  She was radiant.  Her blue eyes danced.  She looked excited.  She had been telling her aunt something, and that worthy woman appeared at once shocked and delighted.  But Bostil’s entrance had caused a mysterious break in everything that had been going on, except the preparation of the morning meal.

“Now I rode in on some confab or other, that’s sure,” said Bostil, good-naturedly.

“You sure did, Dad,” replied Lucy, with a bright smile.

“Wal, let me sit in the game,” he rejoined.

“Dad, you can’t even ante,” said Lucy.

“Jane, what’s this kid up to?” asked Bostil, turning to his sister.

“The good Lord only knows!” replied Aunt Jane, with a sigh.

“Kid? . . .  See here, Dad, I’m eighteen long ago.  I’m grown up.  I can do as I please, go where I like, and anything. . . .  Why, Dad, I could get—­married.”

“Haw! haw!” laughed Bostil.  “Jane, hear the girl.”

“I hear her, Bostil,” sighed Aunt Jane.

“Wal, Lucy, I’d just like to see you fetch some fool love-sick rider around when I’m feelin’ good,” said Bostil.

Lucy laughed, but there was a roguish, daring flash in her eyes.  “Dad, you do seem to have all the young fellows scared.  Some day maybe one will ride along—­a rider like you used to be—­that nobody could bluff. . . .  And he can have me!”

“A-huh! . . .  Lucy, are you in fun?”

Lucy tossed her bright head, but did not answer.

“Jane, what’s got into her?” asked Bostil, appealing to his sister.

“Bostil, she’s in fun, of course,” declared Aunt Jane.  “Still, at that, there’s some sense in what she says.  Come to your breakfast, now.”

Bostil took his seat at the table, glad that he could once more be amiable with his women-folk.  “Lucy, to-morrow’ll be the biggest day Bostil’s Ford ever seen,” he said.

“It sure will be, Dad.  The biggest surprising day the Ford ever had,” replied Lucy.

“Surprisin’?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Who’s goin’ to get surprised?”

“Everybody.”

Bostil said to himself that he had been used to Lucy’s banter, but during his moody spell of days past he had forgotten how to take her or else she was different.

“Brackton tells me you’ve entered a hoss against the field.”

“It’s an open race, isn’t it?”

“Open as the desert, Lucy,” he replied.  “What’s this hoss Wildfire you’ve entered?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” taunted Lucy.

“If he’s as good as his name you might be in at the finish. . . .  But, Lucy, my dear, talkin’ good sense now—­you ain’t a-goin’ to go up on some unbroken mustang in this big race?”