Eileen handed them a large parcel from under her oilskin.
“Well,––that’s all, boys,” she said. “I’m going to Victoria pretty soon, to be dad’s house-keeper. But I’ll be out to see you before I go. You’re off on your own at last,––and that’s the only way. If you don’t like ranching, sell out. But whatever you do,––oh boys!––keep on your own. Don’t ever work for the other fellow any more. Stay out on your own. One is always of most value to one’s-self. I wish I could preach that from the hill-tops. Wage slaving for somebody else is the curse of the times.”
“Hush!––you rascally little socialist; do you wish to ruin all the millionaires and trust companies by giving away their trade secrets in this way?” dryly commented Jim.
Eileen laughed.
“Well,––good-bye, Jim! Good-bye, Phil! And jolly good luck!”
With a whirl and a jump she turned and made off. But the cheery sunshine of her presence and her hearty greeting kept radiating over the two, leaving a warmth and a cheerfulness around them, where a few moments before had been cold and grumpiness.
They reached their destination at last, unhitched and turned the horses into a large barn in the rear of the dwelling house.
There was no doubting the splendidness of the ranch proper, with its acres of young fruit trees set out in rows with mathematical exactitude, and its pasturage which was now blanketed with snow. Neither, alas! was there any doubting the miserableness of the broken-down 263 two-storied, log-built barn of a place that was meant for their future home.
Jim and Phil shook the icy water from their clothes, stamped their feet and went inside.
The house was damp and cheerless, and evidently had not been subjected to heating of any kind for months.