scribed in jest as the belle of Hungry Hollow; the Portuguese had wives, but as the only girl in the hills, she reigned alone. By reason of propinquity, Bud Noles was the only suitor; there were no other boys nearer than the valley homes, and Daisy's untutored sense would have described them as "A pack of high school dudes," if she had been brought in contact with them. She was bred in the hills, and raised as a daughter of the wild pastures.

Daisy was slender, almost lanky in figure, and her face was freckled by the keen salt winds which blew through the gap every day. Her hair was abundant and red, but Nature had given her wonderful eyes of deep blue, holding a yearning look which seemed to come from her soul, and conceal nothing. They had the mystery of the silent mountain stamped upon them, and the expression of the border woman who watches every night for the coming of the men. People who knew Daisy looked into her eyes and forgot that she was homely.

Bud watched her admiringly as she ran lightly down the steep grades; he loved Daisy, and the theories of propinquity did not disturb him.

"Hello, Daisy! I had 'bout thought you couldn't come, an' was going to take the air line over Saddleback home." Bud called out his greeting as the girl slid down the last bank and crossed the road to sit in the shade of the willows.

"Pap's drinking, an' cross as a moulting coon. He's blaming Raminez fer driving away his three lost ewes, in the last band that crossed the divide."

"He's a-lying," said Bud frankly. "I've seen where the coyotes got two, over in the gulch there." Daisy nodded comprehensively, giving entire assent to Bud's impeachment of Dick Skeem's veracity.

"He's my father, but I guess he ain't no good," said the girl sadly. "He says he won't have any of Raminez' gang coming over here after his girl."

"If he'd quit drinking red wine an'

watch his ewes an' leave young folks alone, he'd do a heap better," said Bud angrily.

"I ain't going to stand it any more," replied Daisy passionately. "I've cooked and done fer him since I was little, an' tried to keep a clean house, too. But he brings them Portuguese herders home, and they drink week in and week out. I wake up in the night sore afraid sometimes, for the old man goes to sleep heavy with wine, an' a cannon wouldn't wake him. Then I tie my door with a clothes' line an' stay awake till the men all leaves. Bud, I'm going away, fer I've a feeling that a girl's just got to be good, but she's got to have a chance." The wind blew the flowing red hair back, as she clenched her hands determinedly, and looked at Bud with her strange eyes shining. A look of animation crossed the boy's face; her fire roused him to excitement.

"Where are you going, Daisy?"

"Over in the valley there'll be places for girls, and I've only been out of these hills twice, Bud; once to Livermore, when my stepmother was buried, and once to San Jose when I was ten. Pap never cared what I did, an' how lonesome I was, and now he's taken to drinking and says I can't have you even."

"There, don't cry, honey, for he ain't got the say 'bout that, Daisy," and Bud put his arm around her and drew her head down to his shoulder, and crooned a little song about "Shepherd's Camps on Mountains Wild," that his dead mother used to sing to him, and the girl listened and dried her tears. They sat silently happy for a little while, and Daisy-slipped both hands into Bud's big paws to be held, and Bud could not see the ugly red hair and freckles, but only the big, wistful

give me for finding a bunch of strayed wethers, an' you ain't going alone, Daisy. We're going to get married, fer five dollars is enough to start on, when a fellow's willing to work," concluded Bud stoutly.

"Oh, Bud, I'm afraid that I don't know enough to get married, but it would be awful nice," said Daisy wistfully.

"I'll teach you everything I know," said Bud confidently.

"Will you, Bud," said Daisy delightedly. "Well, then, I will, an' I'll try to be a good wife, Bud, for it's forever, ain't it?"

"Forever an' ever," said Bud, solemnly, "and to-morrer I'm going to the valley and look for work."

The sun flooded the great green plain of the valley, and flashed out over the blue of the bay with a final shower of yellow light, and sank behind the Saddleback into a gory bed of crimson clouds. They left the shade of the green willows, and kissed each other once, then Daisy hurried up to the house, and Bud climbed the steep slopes of the mountain.

At daybreak Bud told his father that he must go to the valley and work, for Daisy could no longer stay at home.

"Ah, Gott! And you will marry and make her so happy, Bud. Your moder was good, and we were happy, with nodings but the sheep life, but always together. And you will be good to Daisy; then I shall wish for great things to befall you, and if it should be needful, then you shall both live with me." And so with the simple, kindly German's consent and blessing, Bud ran down the steep slopes to the valley, whistling blithely.

He left the trail, which led directly to the salt water, and cut through the pastures towards the orchard lands of Santa Clara. At the end of a narrow lane, which dropped down the last slope into the Alameda road, stood a large white house surrounded by mournful rows of weeping willow, and clumps of tall, waving eucalyptus. The big garden was overrun with weeds which straggled out into the walks, and

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the lawns were strewn with dead leaves. The unkempt look of the place attracted Bud's attention. There was work to be done there, and he determined to try his luck, and he entered the grounds through a little wicket gate.

"Good morning, my boy." Bud looked around in surprise; the voice was cheerful and kindly, but the owner was invisible. A low chuckle which came from the interior of a windblown cypress revealed the hiding place, and looking up, Bud saw a thin, wiry looking old gentleman almost concealed by the boughs, sitting on a limb ten feet from the ground.

"I have been hiding from my secretary," explained the old gentleman as he climbed down with agility. "He bothers me with business-it's a little joke of mine," and he smiled so benevolently that Bud felt that perhaps he had found a friend who would give him work.

"Now what are you doing here, boy?" he inquired.

"I am looking for a place to work, sir. I'm strong and willing, an' this place certainly needs a bit of tidying up."

"Are you honest, and have you got a wife?" Bud's heart leaped at the last question.

"I've got a gal, an' we're both honest, and we'll get married to-morrow, if there's work for two," replied Bud earnestly.

"I need a married care-taker, for that is my house, and i.'s full of priceless art treasures. You must get married at once, for I leave for Europe in a few days, but do not speak of it to any one, especially to my secretary; he's always interfering," concluded the old gentleman, speaking rather irritably.

Bud's face shone with joy, and he promised to come the next day, and be faithful to his trust.

"My name is Tiggs: some people call me the benevolent Mr. Tiggs, because I always try to help the young people to marry, but hush! you must go quickly. Here comes my secretary.

Bless you, and come back to-morrow." Bud turned out into the lane and walked rapidly away; he looked back once and saw that the secretary was a big man, and heard him talking crossly to Mr. Tiggs, who had climbed into his tree again. The boy walked rapidly out to the Alameda road, feeling overjoyed at the speedy stroke of good fortune, and he mentally calculated the distance to be covered, and the time at his disposal.

"It's seven miles to the registry office at San Jose," he murmured, "and seven back makes fourteen, fourteen over the hills to Skeems is twentyeight." He settled into a long, swinging stride urged by his feeling for the freckled, red-haired belle of Hungry Hollow.

Bud accomplished his journey and bravely faced the ordeal of the license office with its complement of grinning clerks. At sundown he ascended the last hill below the Skeems farm, and whistled his usual shrill signal to Daisy. The girl came out and looked searchingly into his eyes and smiled joyfully..

"Pap's gone, Bud, and you've had good luck, ain't you? I can tell, 'cause your face is all lit up."

"Job for two, to take care of a big house filled with priceless treasures." Daisy gasped wonderingly as he explained:

"An' I've got it. The law says we can get married when we blame please -and Mr. Tiggs says to-morrer must be the day." Bud joyfully flourished the license, and an awed look stole into Daisy's eyes as she slowly spelled out the law's consent.

"It's kind of a solemn thing to get married, Bud, but it's best. It's awful hard for a girl to raise herself, for Pap never cared, and you've got to be good to me." Daisy stopped for want of breath, as Bud fervently kissed her fears away. They sat on the bench in Daisy's little garden, planning for the morrow, and the moon peeped over Saddleback Mountain and flooded the little hill ranch with silver rays.

When the morning sun pierced the

sea of fog overhanging the valley, Bud came over the ridge, and found Daisy busily preparing for her wedding day.

"I just got to clean house 'fore I leave, Bud, for maybe Pap will miss me a bit then," said Daisy, and Bud took off his coat and helped her. It was afternoon before Daisy, attired in a clean, starched dress, announced herself ready.

"Where are we going to get married, Bud?" she asked trustfully, as they walked hand in hand down the tortuous hill road.

"At the justice's office in Irvington, down by the bay." The license clerks had instructed Bud even as they poked fun at him, but Daisy marveled at his wisdom. It was a happy trip, for Daisy's heart was full, and all the lure of young life lay before her. As they walked, Bud picked a bouquet of wild flowers, which she carried into the dingy little office, and held until the law had sealed their lives together.

When the signatures were written, Bud paid three dollars for the fee, and the new family commenced life penniless.

"What's the diff," said Bud heroically. "We've got a home an' a chance to make money," and Daisy happily agreed, as good wives should, as they hurried away from the curious stares of the loungers. It was seven long miles to the big white house in the lane, but Daisy was a mountain girl, and they arrived at the gates as the sun sank below the hills.

The big house seemed strangely silent and gloomy as they entered the grounds. A gray fog drifting rapidly in from the bay, sifted through the trees, driven by a moaning wind; the gardens looked desolate and drear, and the girl shivered slightly as they walked down the weed covered driveway.

"What's all the windows windows barred for?" asked Daisy, pointing to the iron lattice work.

"Must be to keep thieves from getting them precious treasures," said Bud. Daisy clutched his arm excitedly.

"What's that a-coming?"

Bud

looked and saw the quaint figure of Mr. Tiggs clad in a suit of pajamas and wearing a little black cap, skipping lightly over the lawn towards them. He cast an apprehensive look behind him as he ran, and they saw a big man leave the house apparently in pursuit of their employer, who came up panting.

"My dear young people, so you are married, bless you both," said Mr. Tiggs, beaming upon Daisy.

"Come back to the house, Tiggs," shouted the big man, wrathfully.

every

"My secretary tries to run thing around here," whispered the old gentleman. "But you must put on a bold front, and you will always be happy." Mr. Tiggs bowed gravely, and ran on towards the gate, and they watched him climb into the cypress tree as the secretary came up.

"What's the old cove telling you?" said the man with a grin.

"He hired us yesterday to look after the house, for he said he was going to Europe, but must have married caretakers, as it was full of priceless treasures, so we got married to-day," replied Bud. The big man's face took on an expression of astonishment, and he gravely inspected them from head to foot before speaking.

"You ain't making game of me, are you?"

"It's gospel true," said Bud.

"Well, I'll be eternally jiggered!" and he stared at them again solemnly, shaking his head.

"Well, kids," he drawled, "maybe it's for the best. But I've heard tell that marriages are made in heaven, and I'm blowed if this ain't a queer go,"

"Doesn't Mr. Tiggs own this house?" asked Bud anxiously.

"This is a private asylum, and Tiggs is a harmless old daffy. I'm the keeper, and I've got to get him in. Good-bye and good luck to you kids." The keeper marched down to the tree;

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Mr. Tiggs descended and they saw him lead the old gentleman up the walk to the house. A heavy door slammed, and Bud and Daisy were alone, looking bravely at each other, trying to ignore this stroke of Fate.

They left the grounds, and walked steadily through the mists of the night, up the mountain to the Skeems ranch. At dawn they crossed the Saddleback. to the sheep camp where Bud's father watched the flocks of Raminez, the owner of many herds.

Gurlem Noles saw them coming down the hill, walking hand in hand, and hurriedly lit the fire for the morning meal.

"Ach, children, it is joyful to have you live with me," he exclaimed, as Bud narrated the adventure with the unreliable Mr. Tiggs. The quaint old German kissed Daisy's cheeks, and called her daughter, and submitted quietly when she insisted on preparing the breakfast. Raminez arrived from the south camp as they talked, and smiled gaily at the tale of the wedding.

"It is good for a boy to marry a good girl when he is young, for she will help him to be a man," he said gallantly. "And I will bring another band of sheep for Bud to herd, and Daisy shall get wages, too, for the cooking, and it will not matter about Mr. Tiggs, for he is what you call very unreliable," and everybody laughed at the flockmaster's droll manner. Never was there a happier wedding breakfast anywhere, for Raminez made sly jokes and Gurlem Noles bubbled over with happiness, and Daisy's eyes grew more beautiful as she listened. This was home!

So Raminez rode away to town, as Gurlem Noles drove out his sheep, and Daisy and Bud were left alone to commence life on Saddleback Mountain. The boy was riotously happy, and Daisy was filled with awe and wonder at the beauty of the world, and the goodness of everybody in it.

B

ARBARA closed her typewriter as the clock struck five, laid her sealed letters on the desk ready for mailing, and arranged the drawer in its accustomed order with quick efficient movements that never wasted a stroke. As Myrtle's laugh floated out from the inner office, Barbara glanced across at the neighboring desk, where crumpled carbon paper and file copies were piled promiscuously. It was quite like Myrtle to leave her desk in that shape while she chatted with her employer in the inner office.

"Such a little piece of frippery," she thought. "There's nothing stable about her. She might be interesting as a sociological problem, but I prefer those in the abstract."

In spite of her disapproval, however, Barbara had been secretly touched by occasional evidences of Myrtle's subdued admiration. Her grave attempts to copy Barbara's dress and manner had been quite amusing.

"I wish it had the effect of making her discard those ridiculous puffs and some of her rings," she reflected.

Myrtle came into the room with a flutter of ruffles, a pencil rampant in her hair, a note book under one arm and both hands full of paper which she deposited in the middle of the confusion on her desk, regardless of Barbara's critical eye.

"Wouldn't that jar you?" she cried gleefully. "Pop's on a strike. Said I had to type that whole bunch over again. I jollied him good and plenty, and he let me off from all but the first ones. Aint' I a wiz!"

She dropped into a chair facing Barbara, with her chin propped on another chair, which she skillfully wrested into a position in front of her.

"Say," she questioned, "why don't you call the boss 'Pop,' same as all the other girls have?"

Barbara's glance made Myrtle suddenly conscious that she seldom received much but disapproval from that source.

"I don't know why I should."

"He likes us to; didn't he ask you? He asks all the new girls: says he likes to have things friendly in the office."

"I don't care to have friendly relations with my employer," discreetly ignoring the question. At least he had not repeated the request. "He gets value received for my salary. That's all he is entitled to. I had rather keep my friendship for outside of office hours."

"Gee, I hadn't. I can jolly him. when I make mistakes, and he won't say anything. He's free with his money, too; nobody can say he's a pincher. He gave me this," fingering a dainty necklace at her throat. "But then, I do lots of things for him."

"I'd count it in on my salary, then," returned Barbara. "Personally I'd rather have the four dollars in cash."

"Four dollars. This cost ten."

The closing of the outer office door relieved Barbara of the apprehension that possibly Mr. Hartmann might be getting the benefit of their conversation. She did not think him above it. She adjusted her hat carefully and securely before the glass, Myrtle watching every movement of her handsome