"Can't I go, father?" interrupted Donald quickly. "I don't see why I couldn't adjust the insurance and help about having new buildings put up. Sandy and Douglas have good judgment, and before I started you could tell me just what you want done. Besides," he added shyly, "I am now through my first year at the Law School and have some little knowledge of legal affairs—that is, I know more than I used to."
Mr. Clark beamed.
"You could go in my place perfectly well, Don, if you are willing to give up your summer vacation to it. It would certainly be a great help. But how about those house-parties you had planned for?"
"I can decline those, father. I'd be glad to go!" was Donald's reply. "I always promised Sandy I would come West again some time, and I should really enjoy another glimpse of the hills."
So it was arranged.
Within two days Donald was speeding West, and almost before he realized it he was back at Crescent Ranch.
Then came letters for Mr. Clark.
The insurance was adjusted and with the aid of the McCullochs, Donald was drawing up plans for new barns—barns with cement floors, and far better ventilated and equipped than the old ones had been. Almost every day brought to the Eastern office pages and pages of sketches for sheep-folds and modern contrivances for lessening the labor of wool-growing. Every line of these letters bubbled with enthusiasm. There could be no possible question that Donald's heart was in every word he wrote.
Summer passed and the time for the beginning of the college term drew near.
Mr. Clark began to look for the boy's return.