on purpose to keep track of those cattle,” I concluded, audaciously, for father didn’t approve of a policy of retaliation.

“Horton’s cattle are not to blame,” he said now, but the shadow that always came over his patient face at the mention of our intractable neighbor settled heavily upon it as he spoke.

“I know the cattle are not to blame,” I retorted, with a good deal of temper. “I just wish that their master himself would come out and trample on our corn and wallow in our wheat field, instead of driving his cattle up so that they may do it; I’d set Guard on him with the greatest pleasure.”

“Now, now, Leslie, you shouldn’t talk so!” father remonstrated gently.

But here Jessie, whose disposition is much more placid than mine, broke in, abruptly:

“I don’t blame Leslie for feeling so, father. Only think, we’ve been on this place nearly five years, and we’ve never yet raised a crop, because Mr. Horton’s cattle, no matter where they may be ranging, always get up here just in time—the right time—to do the most damage. The other neighbors’ cattle hardly ever stray into our fields, and when they do the neighbors are good about it. Think of the time when Mr. Rollins’s herd got into the corn field and ate the corn rows down, one after another. Mr. Rollins came after them himself, and paid the damage, without a word of complaint. Besides, he said that it shouldn’t happen again; and it didn’t. When has Mr. Horton ever done a thing like that?”

“He’s been kept busy other ways,” father said, and his voice had none of the resentment that Jessie’s expressed. “The last time that his cattle got in here I went to see him about it, and he said that the field was a part of the range, being unfenced, and that any lawyer in the United States would sustain him in saying so. He was quite right, too—only he was not neighborly.”

“Neighborly! I should say not,” Jessie exclaimed, with a lowering brow. “His horses have trampled down our garden and girdled all our fruit trees, even to the Seckel pear that mother brought from grandfather’s.”

“I know; it is very trying,” father said, stifling a sigh; “but it can do no good to dwell on these things, daughter. An enemy of any kind does you more injury when he destroys your peace of mind, and causes you to harbor revengeful feelings, than he can possibly achieve in any other way. We must keep up our courage, and make the best of present circumstances, bad as they sometimes are. A change is bound to come.”

“Me wants more breakfuss,” Ralph broke in, suddenly, extending his empty milk-cup toward me, his chief servitor. I refilled it from the pitcher beside me, and as I absently crumbled bits of bread into it I sought enlightenment. “I never quite understood, father, why Mr. Horton is so spiteful toward us.”

“It is easily understood, Leslie. He wants this homestead claim, and hopes to weary us into giving it up.”

“He can find plenty of other claims,” I argued.

“Yes; but not such as this. This is an upper valley, as you know, and just above our claim five mountain streams join the main river as the fingers of a hand join the palm, the main river being the palm. Every square foot of our claim can be irrigated, and it takes in about all of the valley that is worth taking—enough to control the water rights for all the land below us. That is the reason why Horton is trying so hard to dislodge us. He would like to be able to make the ranchmen on the lower ranches come to his terms about the water.”

“But the law regulates the water rights,” said Jessie.

“It is supposed to do so, and does it, after a fashion, but no human laws have ever yet been able to satisfactorily regulate a mean man. It would be a great misfortune to the ranchmen below if Horton were to get a title to this place; he likes to make people feel his authority, and one effective way of doing that would be to worry people about the water supply, just when they needed it most, of course. I feel now that our danger of losing the place is past. It has been a hard struggle to bear up against nearly five years of such sly, petty persecutions. Horton is careful not to oppose us openly. When he’s found out, as he is occasionally, it always appears that he has been careful to keep within the letter of the law. Well, as Leslie says, we’ll get our title clear, and then the wind will be out of Mr. Horton’s sails. I’ve been afraid to make a move, or to do anything except curl down and study the homestead laws all this time. If I had come to an open rupture with him he might have gone down to the land office and told some story of his own invention to the agent that would injure me greatly, for land agents are only too ready to believe evil of land claimants, it seems to me. Now my notice for offering final proof is in one of the papers; it must be published three times, and the period of publication must not range over more than three months at the outside, so you see, at the farthest, if our proof is accepted, we shall have a deed to this place within three months. I do not see how we can fail to get it; we have complied with all the requirements.”

“Yes,” Jessie assented, gravely. “We have two cows, two horses, a cat, a dog, a clock, some chairs, some dishes, a table, a stove, and some poultry.”

Father smiled, the slow, serious smile that had replaced his cheery laugh since mother’s death two years before. “You are well posted on homestead laws, daughter,” he said, rising from the table. “Where’s my coat, Leslie, did you get it mended?”

For answer I took down a worn, light, gray coat from a nail behind the kitchen door.

“Look at that!” I said, pointing proudly to a very conspicuous patch on the elbow of one sleeve. An older seamstress would have felt, perhaps, that the patch asserted its existence almost too defiantly; it seemed almost to vaunt itself, but conscious of the rectitude of my intentions, if not of my work, I raised my face, expectantly, awaiting the praise that I felt to be my due. I was not disappointed. Father held the garment up to the light and examined the mending with critical approval.

“That’s what I call a good job, my little girl,” he said heartily, but Jessie, glancing at the proof of my housewifely skill, as evidenced by the coat, laughed.

“‘A tear may be the accident of a moment,’” she quoted, “‘but a patch is premeditated poverty.’ And such a patch! You could see it a mile away. Really, Leslie, it looks like Jeremiah Porlock’s cattle brand.”

I felt my face crimsoning with indignation, but was happily prevented from making the retort that sprang to my lips, as father murmured ruefully:

“Dear, dear, what a pity that Joe left the spade! It will just about spoil my whole forenoon to be obliged to stop and bring it down. However, there’s no help for it.”

“Yes, there is, papa,” I cried, springing to my feet. “I’ll go up with you and bring it back.”

It was characteristic of father’s gentleness toward us his motherless young daughters, that he had not once thought of the possibility of either of us acting, in this instance, as his substitute.

“It’s a long walk,” he objected, looking at me doubtfully.

“Long! Why, papa, I’ve taken longer walks than that, lots of times. It isn’t above a mile and a half; I could run every step of the way!”

“Me, too,” proclaimed Ralph,