"Yes, sir."
"Who wants him, and what for?"
Patiently Cordelia told him. She wore a hopeless air. She had ceased, evidently, to expect anything that was good.
Mr. Hartley gave a low whistle. For a moment he was silent, then he chuckled unexpectedly.
"Well, Miss Cordelia, if you hadn't looked so far away for your pony you might have seen his tracks nearer home, perhaps. As it happens, Lester Goodwin is right here on the ranch."
"Here? Lester Goodwin?" gasped Cordelia.
"Yes. Oh, he isn't known by that name—he preferred not to be. He came to me fourteen years ago, and he's been here ever since. He said he wanted to be a cowboy; that he'd always wanted to be one ever since when, as a little boy, he used to rope his rocking-horse with his mother's clothes-line. His uncle had wanted him to be a teacher, but he hated the sight of books; so when his uncle died, he ran away and came here. He said there wasn't anybody to care where he was, or what he did; so I let him stay."
"And to think he's here now!"
"He certainly is. You see he came here because he knew me once a little when I was in Sunbridge visiting relatives, years ago, and he knew I had become a ranchman in Texas. He begged so hard that I should keep his secret that I've always kept it. Besides, there was nothing to keep. Nobody ever asked me, or suspected he was here."
"Why, how strange!" breathed Cordelia, with shining eyes. "And only think how I've asked everybody but you—and now I've found one of them right here!"