Miss Carter, a rosy, strong, pleasant girl, appeared two days later in a driving rain and immediately “took hold.”  She was talkative, assured in manner, neat in appearance, entirely competent.  She drove poor Belle to frenzy with her supervision of Timothy’s trays, baths and clothes, amusements and sleeping arrangements.  Timmy liked her, which was point one in her favor.  Point two was that she liked to have her meals alone, liked to disappear with a book, could amuse herself for hours in her own room.

The Tressadys, in the privacy of their own room, began to say to each other:  “I like her—­she’ll do!”

“She’s very complacent,” Molly would say with a sigh.

“But it’s nothing to the way Belle effervesces all over the place!”

“Oh, I suppose she is simply trying to make a good impression—­ that’s all.”  And Mrs. Tressady began to cast about in her mind for just the words in which to tell Belle that—­really—­four servants were not needed at the ranch.  Belle was so sulky in these days and so rude to the new-comer that Molly knew she would have no trouble in finding good reason for the dismissal.

“Are we going to keep her?” Belle asked scornfully one morning—­to which her mistress answered sharply: 

“Belle, kindly do not shout so when you come into my room.  Do you see that I am writing?”

“Gee whiz!” said Belle, sorrowfully, as she went out, and she visibly drooped all day.

It was decided that as soon as the Tressadys’ San Francisco visit was over, Belle should go.  They were going down to the city for a week in early March—­for some gowns for Molly, some dinners, some opera, and one of the talks with Jerry’s doctor that were becoming so delightfully unnecessary.

They left the ranch in a steady, gloomy downpour.  Molly did her packing between discouraged trips to the window, and deluged Belle and Miss Carter with apprehensive advice that was not at all like her usual trusting outlook.

“Don’t fail to telephone me instantly at the hotel if anything—­but, of course, nothing will,” said Molly.  “Anyway you know the doctor’s number, Belle, and about a hot-water bag for him if his feet are cold, and oil the instant he shows the least sign of fever—­”

“Cert’n’y!” said Belle, reassuringly.

“This is Monday,” said Molly.  “We’ll be back Sunday night.  Have Little Hong meet us at the Junction.  And if it’s clear, bring Timmy.”

“Cert’n’y!” said Belle.

“I hate to go in all this rain!” Molly said an hour or two later from the depths of the motor-car.

Miss Carter was holding Timmy firmly on the sheltered porch railing.  Belle stood on an upper step in the rain.  Big Hong beamed from the shadowy doorway.  At the last instant Belle suddenly caught Timmy in her arms and ran down the wet path.

“Give muddy a reel good kiss for good-by!” commanded Belle, and Molly hungrily claimed not one, but a score.