“’Tis more convenient traveling that way, I suppose. And what a journey you have had.” All the while Mrs. Murray talked she was bustling about the great kitchen, preparing supper for them. “Now, sit up, and eat, for you must be hungry. Jeanie, child, you may sit here in father’s place.”
Such a supper as the girls enjoyed that first night at the ranch! Brook trout that Don had caught that morning early, baked potatoes, and graham bread, and glasses of milk that were half filled with cream.
“You mustn’t eat too heartily, going to bed,” Mrs. Murray told them, “but to-morrow you can make up for it. I shall mother every one of you while you’re here.”
“We’ll be good,” Polly promised, and the others chimed in willingly enough.
“Where are you going to put us all to sleep, motherie?” asked Jean.
“And well may you ask me that, Jeanie,” laughed her mother, with the light burr to her speech giving it a delightful softness. “We have but three beds here in the main house, you must know, girls. There is the large bunkhouse for the men down below the corral, and the two cabins, as we call them. One was our first house here, when father and I took up the claim over thirty years back, and the other the boys built for themselves. So after talking it over, we thought it would be best to give you the home cabin, and then you’ll be by yourselves, and can have as good a time as you like. If you’re timid the first few nights, Jeanie or myself will stay with you.”
“Oh, we won’t be timid, Mrs. Murray,” protested Ted, with quick mental visions of royal good times in the cabin. “We’ll be ever so good. I think that’s a dandy plan, girls.”
“And so do we,” chorused the rest.
“Then gather up your belongings, and follow me,” called Jeanie, picking up a lantern that stood by the door. “Is there a light there, motherie?”
“Yes, child, on the table in the large room. Good-night, bairnies. And that’s all you are, too,” she smiled, “despite your height and weight. Just a peck of bairnies to be happy and enjoy life while you may. God bless you all.”