"Mail's in! Lots of letters!"
"Any for me?" asked Nell, reaching out her hand toward Bud. "Don't tell me there isn't!" she pleaded.
"Well, I'm sorry, Sis," began Bud, teasingly, "there was one for you, but driving in we ran over a rattler and——"
"Don't you believe him, Nell!" consoled Nort, who didn't altogether agree with Bud's teasing of his sister. "Your letters are safe in the pouch."
"Oh, there are letters, then, are there—not just one?" cried Nell with shining eyes. "Thanks a whole lot."
"Don't thank me—thank the postmaster—or whoever wrote you the letters!" laughed Nort.
Bud had sat down on a bench outside the ranch house and was opening the mail pouch. His mother came to the door of the kitchen, wiping flour from her hands, for though Mrs. Merkel kept a "hired girl," and though Nell assisted, yet the mother of Bud insisted on doing much of the work herself, and very able she was, too.
"Any letters for your father?" she asked.
"Two or three," answered Bud, as he looked over the envelopes. "And one for you, Mother."
"Well, take your father's mail to him when you've finished sorting," suggested Mrs. Merkel. "He said he was expecting something of importance. You'll find him over in the bunk house looking after Mr. Watson."