"Come now, darling; come up stairs and when you've had your bath, I'll dress you up and brush your hair nicely. It's all tangled."
"I didn't mean to be cross, Glen," said Indiana, with a sudden change of mood, as Mrs. Stillwater took her hand and led her through the kitchen.
"Oh, that's all right, Indiana!"
Glen Masters had known Indiana all her life. When she was born, the six-year old Glen came to see the baby, and stood by her cradle, sucking his thumb in solemn-eyed wonder. Not having any brothers or sisters of his own, he adopted her immediately; and he loved to be tyrannized over by the petted baby girl, who kicked and scratched him one minute, and the next caressed him with her little, soft, fat palms. His father had risen in the world very much the same way as Stillwater. They had been ranchmen together.
Stillwater lit a meerschaum pipe and puffed it slowly. Glen followed his example.
"There's two birds building a nest up in that sycamore," said Stillwater. "Hear them twitter? They're just as happy as can be."
Glen lounged on the step, looking dreamily up at the sky.
"Well, how are things going on over at the farm?" inquired Stillwater.
"Oh, we'll show some livestock at the County Fair that can't be beat." His eyes smiled a challenge at Stillwater.
"No competition," chuckled Stillwater, "but just you come over to the barn. I want to show you something. 'Farming ain't no fad with Friend Masters,' but I'll meet him at Phillipi."