“The cows have gone down,” Elliott told him. “Prince has them. He will take them home, won’t he?”
“Prince? Good enough! He’ll get the 90 cows home all right. But what are you doing in this mix-up?”
“A woman telephoned the house,” said Elliott. “I was afraid I couldn’t reach any of you in time, so I came over myself.”
“You like cows?” The question shot at her like a bullet.
The piquant nose wrinkled entrancingly. “Scared to death of ’em.”
“I guessed as much.” The boy nodded. “Gee whiz, but you’ve got good stuff in you!”
And though her shoes were dusty and her hair tousled, and though her knees hadn’t stopped shaking even yet, Elliott Cameron felt a sudden sense of satisfaction and pride. She turned and looked over the fence at the meadow. In its unmarred beauty it seemed to belong to her.