brightly with its slowly increasing acreage of water, upon which
thousands of migratory wildfowl whirred and splashed and
squawked, as if reluctant to leave this cool, wet surprise so new
in the long desert journey to the northland. Quarters for the
cowboys--comfortable, roomy adobe houses that not even the lamest
cowboy dared describe as crampy bunks--stood in a row upon a long
bench of ground above the lake. And down to the edge of the
valley the cluster of Mexican habitations and the little church
showed the touch of the same renewing hand.


All that had been left of the old Spanish house which had been
Stillwell's home for so long was the bare, massive structure, and
some of this had been cut away for new doors and windows. Every
modern convenience, even to hot and cold running water and
acetylene light, had been installed; and the whole interior
painted and carpentered and furnished. The ideal sought had not
been luxury, but comfort. Every door into the patio looked out
upon dark, rich grass and sweet-faced flowers, and every window
looked down the green slopes.

Madeline's rooms occupied the west end of the building and
comprised four in number, all opening out upon the long porch.
There was a small room for her maid, another which she used as an
office, then her sleeping-apartment; and, lastly, the great light
chamber which she had liked so well upon first sight, and which
now, simply yet beautifully furnished and containing her favorite
books and pictures, she had come to love as she had never loved
any room at home. In the morning the fragrant, balmy air blew
the white curtains of the open windows; at noon the drowsy,