your pick.”
“I love wild horses, Mr. Wade. I have caught them myself and broken them, too.”
“All by yourself?” ejaculated Marigold incredulously.
“Yes. It’s nothing to trap a wild pony. But it’s a good deal to break him right.”
“How old are you, Lark?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I’m going on nineteen.”
“Nineteen and never had a beau?” asked Marigold flippantly. It might have been that she did not altogether like her father’s sympathetic attitude.
“I’m sure about that last, cousin,” returned Lark with just a note of aloofness.
“Lass, you an’ I will get along,” interposed the rancher. “Now you just settle yourself here an’ make the best of it. Find some work, so you won’t be too idle, as Mari is. Help around the house, read, an’ ride all you want. I will talk with Mother about arrangin’ an allowance for you.”
“It’s so wonderful—so good—of you,” murmured Lark, feeling a birth of something warm and sweet in her. She liked the rancher’s eyes. She sensed that all was not as he might have wanted it in that home.
“Dad, you are good,” put in Marigold, kissing him. “We’ll go to town tomorrow.”
“All right, daughter. Get an early start, so you can be back early. It was past midnight last time.”
“Remember, Dad, the buckboard broke a wheel,” interrupted Marigold gaily. “I promise you not to be late. Come on, Lark. We’ll run up to your room and make out a list.”
“Say, Dad likes you,” went on Marigold, when they were upstairs again. “He hasn’t much use for flighty girls.”
“I sure like him too,” replied Lark fervently. “You don’t know what it is to be without a father. Once I thought I’d never, never get over it.”
“Say, child, what a shame. Haven’t you had anybody to be fond of you?”
“No one, except my old farm hand, Jake.”
“Lark, haven’t you had a sweetheart? Honestly now?”
“I haven’t, Marigold,” protested Lark, with a blush. “I haven’t. Cross my heart.”
“Aren’t there any cowboys in Idaho?”
“Yes, more than in Washington, I’d say. But none near my ranch. I met cowboys at the dances. I don’t think much of cowboys. Last time there was a fight over me. So they said. I didn’t see how it could be. But I avoided them after that.”
“So you don’t think much of cowboys,” replied Marigold thoughtfully, with a speculative eye upon her cousin. “Neither do I. They’re a conceited bunch. Stan doesn’t like it when I look at one.”
“Who’s Stan?”
“Oh, he’s my fiancé,” said Marigold indifferently. “We’ve been engaged ever since I was sixteen. Before he went to college . . . Family affair. Well, Lark, my dear, let’s make that list of what you need.”
CHAPTER TWO
At noon the next day they arrived in the dusty town, which boasted a large merchandise store, several saloons, and a hotel and small restaurant. Lark was intrigued and delighted with the variety of materials and goods the store had to offer. Much more than she had ever seen before.
While they were examining and debating about the various colors and varieties of goods, Lark noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a masculine form emerge from the aisle.
“Here you are. I had a hard time finding you,” someone said in a pleasant deep voice.
“Hello, Stan, I’m glad you rode over,” replied Marigold. “Lark, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Stanley Weston. Stan, my cousin, Lark Burrell, from Idaho. She has come to live with us.”
“Miss Burrell, I’m happy to know you,” replied Weston, with a slight bow.
“I’m happy to meet you, sir,” Lark said shyly, gazing into serious dark eyes.
“Marigold, I have to see to my horse, but I’ll meet you later and accompany you home,” said Weston, turning to Marigold.
“That will be fine. We’ll be ready at four.”
Weston bowed again, and strode out.
A little before four, they were loading their purchases in the buckboard, with the help of the clerk, when Lark saw Marigold’s fiancé. As he stepped out to meet the buckboard, lifting his hat, Lark sustained an unaccountable thrill. In the sunlight, bareheaded, he looked singularly pleasing. He was broad of shoulder and well above medium height.
He laughed. “Mari, you’re on time for once.”
“I don’t want Dad to have reason to be angry. Look at all we’ve bought. Let’s go,” she said, gathering the reins as she stepped up into the buckboard.
The trip back was rapid—the horses were rested and anxious to get home. Marigold occupied herself with driving, while Weston questioned Lark about her life in Idaho. Lark found herself responding to his warm friendliness with ease, and was sorry when they arrived at the ranch.
That night dinner at the Wades’ was another ordeal for Lark, though not so bad as that of the day before. Marigold was in high spirits, which Mr. Wade remarked was easy to understand. He was in good humor and asked Lark teasing questions. Ellery, who sat next to Lark, annoyed her by trying to get hold of her hand. But it was the thought of Stanley which made the dinner much too long for the girl.
After dinner the goods, both Lark’s and Marigold’s, had to be shown for Mrs. Wade’s edification. She was as pleased as the girls. Indeed, Marigold had a faithful ally in her mother.
“But, dear, it seems such useless extravagance—I mean your purchases—when you will be getting married soon, surely this fall,” remarked her mother.
Marigold flushed red, and It was evident to Lark that she saw red too. “Mother, I’ve told you I don’t want to get married soon,” she retorted.
“You should. You’re twenty-two.”
“Suppose I am? That’s not old—it’s young. I don’t want to settle down and have children and be old before I know it. I’m having a good time. Besides, Stan wants me to live in that old ranch house of his, with his old father. I want to live in town. We’ve argued about it often. I wish you’d let me alone. It just upsets me. I’ll do as I please, anyhow.”
“So we have observed,” retorted Mrs. Wade, with resignation. “But Marigold, you should realize things as they are. We are not rich, by any means. Your father has sold out. That money, most of it, must go to pay debts and put his store in better shape to meet competition. Now Stanley Weston is, or will be, a wealthy man. Take care you don’t play around so long that you’ll lose him.”
“Oh!”
