boss has been growling at me ever since I have been with him, but I pay no attention to him. He thinks if you don't do a thing as he does, you don't do it right, and any idea that does not originate in his brain is not worth anything. To hear him talking to that lady visiting here to-day you would think he was a perfect man living on a model ranch.' I will never forget how mad Hendricks was with the boss one Saturday evening. We had just come from supper when Hendricks lit his pipe and gave vent to his feelings, as follows: 'If I had had a four-year-old club at the supper table to-night, I felt so boiling mad that I would have knocked hell out of him. To hear him go on a nagging and fault-finding with that little woman of his. There she has been a-working hard all day, set three good meals, doing the churning and all the housework besides; and all she gets for her patient labor is a growl.' 'Yes,' said another man, 'she has been working like a slave all the week and to-morrow is Sunday, and it will be to her just the same as any other day.' Hendricks said: 'The boss thinks more of his old plugs than he does of his wife. See what care he takes of his horses. One lot is resting while the other lot is working; then those that have been working are put in the pasture, and those that have been resting are put to work. But he never seems to think that poor worn-out woman of his needs a rest and change.'

"Parsons added: 'That is not the worst of it. His wife is a cook-stove slave, and a wash and butter-making machine. It does not matter how tired she is or otherwise physically unfit, he demands his marital privileges as a right, regardless of her wishes or protests. I know it is a fact, for he brags about it.' Parsons continued: 'When a boy I used to hear preachers talk about hell, and I could not see what was the use of sending millions and billions of people to eternal torments, so I thought there ought to be no such place as hell; but if there is a hell, then I think the boss deserves to go there.'

"An intelligent young man from the East by the name of Travers joined in the conversation by saying: 'When I was a boy I remember how serious my good father felt because he thought a neighbor had died without his sins being forgiven, and had gone to hell. At that time the word hell used to have some meaning on the minds of the people, and produced on my mind a feeling of fear and awe. But how different it is now. If a minister was to preach now about all wicked people going to hell, it would produce no more effect on their minds than water on a duck's back, for the word hell is now a spent thunderbolt, used uselessly by the mouths of so many. It may be well for theologians to know (if any of them believe in hell as preached) whether or not they have got through discussing hell; their views have no weight whatever on the minds of the masses, for they are all the time making light, fun, and sport of the word hell.' 'That's so,' joined in the men, and they all laughed.

"I had been at the Lonsdale ranch about three or four months when I received your letter asking me to return home."

"Well, Charles," said the old man Herne, "if I had not worked out for several years on ranches, I should think your stories slightly colored, but from my own experience I should say the half has not been told."

"That is so, father," said Charles. "I have not stated what I have seen and heard half strongly enough."

The father said: "When I bought this ranch, the first thing I did was to build solid fences, raise lots of feed and hang gates on hinges so that a child could open them with its finger. I always make my plans so that I have more feed than stock. I did not set out an orchard till the fences were finished, so that nothing could get in. I made it a point to avoid losing a lot of work through bad management. My hired men have always had a good house to sleep in, each man having a room to himself. The house is cool in the summer through having double porches all round it, and warm in winter because it is well furnished. Men and teams never go out to work in the winter till the sun is up. Every man sits down to supper at six, during the summer months, and they have two hours' nooning. What is the result? I have always had the best men to work for me, and they never want to leave. Each man is put upon his honor, and takes as much interest in doing his best for me as if the place belonged to him. Everything goes on the same at the ranch when I am away as when I am there. No man has used anything but the most respectful language to me. I have heard no swearing at teams. In fact, I have heard no swearing or low stories at all. I never would allow it. Every day the work is done well and without friction."

"Yes," said his son, "I used to think your place was heaven while I was away."

Two years from the time this conversation took place, the father died, leaving the property and some money to his son, Charles, and seven thousand dollars to his daughter Lena.

Charles Herne was not a student of political economy nor a reader of sociology, but what he did was done through an innate sense of justice, with a spirit of generosity, and the munificent treatment of his men was the manifestation of his noble, free spirit. To-morrow will be the greatest event so far in the life of Charles Herne, for he brings to his home his bride.

CHAPTER III.

THE MARRIAGE OF CHARLES HERNE.

Two miles from the Herne ranch, toward Roseland, lived the Holbrooke family.

On the afternoon of the day which was of such importance in the lives of two of our characters, Mr. Holbrooke returned from a survey of his orchard, to be met by his wife with a face full of mysterious importance.

"I've got some news, James," she said. "Now guess what it is—

"Sophia has heard from one of her old beaux," said her husband immediately.

"Get a pail of water and throw it over your dad, Sophia," said Mrs. Holbrooke. "He's always joking you about your beaux. Well," she added, "I see I'll have to tell you, you'll never guess. Charles Herne has just gone by here with a bran-new suit of clothes, a bran-new matched team, a bran-new harness, a bran-new buggy, and a bran-new wife. There! What do you think of that?"

"Why," said her husband, "I think you may see them go by here some day with a brand-new baby."

"The idea of your talking that way before Sophia; that's the way with you men, your mind is always run on such things."

"Well," said her husband, "I don't think such a subject is very foreign to your mind or Sophia's either."

"Sophy, let's you and I take your dad and throw him. We can do it," said Mrs. Holbrooke.

Since the newly-married couple that caused so much interest in the Holbrooke family had gone by, Sophia had laid down her novel, "The Banker's Daughter," and was gazing dreamily out of the window. The young lady being of a rather romantic turn of mind, had just been saying to herself, "What a perfect day to be married. Will everything be as beautiful on my wedding day, I wonder?"

"Well," said Mrs. Holbrooke, "whoever the lady may be, she has got a good man and a lovely home."

"Yes," said her husband, "a good job was done when Charles Herne came into the world."

"Don't talk so rough, James. I never saw a man like you in all my life," said his wife.

"The old man Herne had a long head on him when he sent Charles out into the world to cut his own fodder," added Holbrooke, reflectively.

"Yes," said his wife, "those hired men of his wouldn't be acting like gentlemen the way they are now if Charles had not gone out and rustled."

"Two years ago," he continued, "he devoted the entire proceeds from