Tears sprang to the eyes of Margaret. All her life she had been petted and pampered, as she had been an only child and so she had not learned the joy of that self-sacrifice which she now saw shining in the violet-blue eyes of her new friend.
Not wishing to sadden their ward, Virginia sprang up and poked at the fire. “Dance, little flames,” she said merrily, “and show our guest how prettily a mesquite root can burn.”
“Please don’t call me a guest,” Margaret begged impulsively. “I want to be home folks. It’s so long since I had a real home.” She had risen and had placed an arm about the western girl who still stood looking down at the fire. As Malcolm watched them, he thought that nowhere could two more lovely girls be found although they were very unlike each other.
The grandfather clock was soon telling the hour of nine, which was bed-time for the dwellers of V. M. Ranch. The lad rose and placed a wire screen in front of the fire as he said gaily: “Girls, don’t despair of getting an ‘iddication,’ as Uncle Tex calls it. Most anytime we may find a paying mine. I am convinced that there is one in these mountains, and when it is found, three trunks will be packed and we will all depart for the centers of learning.” Then, to Virginia, he added, “Margaret will want to sleep late, for I am sure that she is unusually tired after that long hard journey, and, just for the luxury of it, suppose you sleep too. I’ll get my own breakfast. I want to reach the Slater Ranch soon after sunrise to hand in my report about the cattle that I delivered in Chicago.”
Long after Margaret was in her comfortable bed, she lay awake wondering what life on the desert was to hold for her, but it was to be more interesting and exciting than even her wildest dreams could picture.
CHAPTER X—THE LOST BROTHER.
The next day was a happy one for Margaret and Virginia.
“Please give me some tasks to do that shall be my very own,” the newcomer pleaded when breakfast was over. Malcolm, true to his word, had long since departed.
“Oh, let’s just do everything together,” Virginia replied. “That’s more sociable. First, we will make the beds. I’ll spread one side and you the other, and while we’re doing them, let’s chatter like magpies. There are dozens of things I want to know about you. First, is this Babs about whom you tell, your very best friend?”
“Yes indeed. Her full name is Barbara Blair Wente, and, Virg, I do believe that you could put her in a thimble, most, and not have a single one of her sunny hairs show over the top, she’s that tiny. She has a brother, but she seldom mentions him. There is something very sad about him, but I don’t understand what exactly. Once, when I went to our room unexpectedly (that is, Babs thought I was in class, and I was, only I went back for a book), I found her crying as though her heart would break. In one hand she held a crumpled letter and in the other a picture of such a good-looking boy. Of course I begged her to tell me, that is, if I could help, but she said she just couldn’t tell the whole story. However, I gathered from fragments that her brother, Peyton, who is three years older than she, had displeased their rather stern father and had disappeared, no one knew where. ‘I love him so, Megsy,’ Babs sobbed, ‘much more than I do anyone on the whole earth now that mother is gone.’