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Austin was up at the mine, of course, but Miss Boone despatched a messenger for him in all haste. The messenger was instructed to say merely that Manzanita had something she wanted to show him, but the simple little ruse failed. Austin guessed what the something was, and before he had fairly dismounted from his wheeling buckskin, his mother heard his eager voice: “Mater! Where are you! Where’s my mother?”

He came rushing into the ranch-house, and caught her in his arms, laughing and eager, half wild with the joy of seeing his mother and his girl in each other’s company, and too radiant to suspect that his mother’s happiness was not as great as his own.

“You got my letter about our engagement, mater? Of course,–and you came right on to meet my girl yourself, didn’t you? Good little mater, that was perfectly great of you! This is just about the best thing that ever–and isn’t she sweet–do you blame me?” He had his arm about Manzanita, their eyes were together, his tender and proud, the girl’s laughing and shy,–they did not see Mrs. Phelps’s expression. “And what did you think?” Austin rushed on, “Were you surprised? Did you tell Cornelia? That’s good. Did you tell every one–have the home papers had it? You know, mother,” Austin dropped his voice confidentially, “I wasn’t sure you’d be awfully glad,–just at first, you know. I knew you would be the minute you saw Manz’ita; but I was afraid–But now, it’s all right,–and it’s just great!”

“But I thought Yerba Buena was quite a little village, dear,” said Mrs. Phelps, accusingly.

“What’s the difference?” said Austin, cheerfully, much concerned because Manzanita was silently implying that he should remove his arm from her waist.

“Why, I thought I could stay at a hotel, or at least a boarding-house–” began his mother. Miss Boone laughed out. She was a noisy young creature.

“We’ll ‘phone the Waldorf-Astoria,” said she.

“Seriously, Austin–” said Mrs. Phelps, looking annoyed.

“Seriously, mater,” he met her distress comfortably, “you’ll stay here at the ranch-house. I live here, you know. Manz’ita’ll love to have you, and you’ll get the best meals you ever had since you were born! This was certainly a corking thing for you to do, mother!” he broke off joyfully. “And you’re looking awfully well!”

“I find you changed, Austin,” his mother said, with a delicate inflection that made the words significant. “You’re brown, dear, and bigger, and–heavier, aren’t you?”

“Why don’t you say fat?” said Manzanita, with a little push for her affianced husband. “He was an awfully pasty-looking thing when he came here,” she confided to his mother. “But I fed him up, didn’t I, Aus?” And she rubbed her cheek against his head like a little friendly pony.

“And he’s going to marry her!” Mrs. Phelps said to herself, heartsick. She felt suddenly old and discouraged and helpless; out of their zone of youth and love. But on the heels of despair, her courage rose up again. She would save Austin while there was yet time, if human power could do it.

The three were sitting in the parlor, a small, square room, through whose western windows the sinking sun streamed boldly. Mrs. Phelps had never seen a room like this before. There was no note of quaintness here; no high-boy, no heavy old mahogany drop-leaf table, no braided rugs or small-paned windows. There was not even comfort. The chairs were as new and shining as chairs could be; there was a “mission style” rocker, a golden-oak rocker, a cherry rocker, heavily upholstered. There was a walnut drop-head sewing-machine on which a pink saucer of some black liquid fly-poison stood. There was a “body Brussels” rug on the floor. Lastly, there was an oak sideboard, dusty, pretentious, with its mirror cut into small sections by little, empty shelves.

It all seemed like a nightmare to poor little Mrs. Phelps, as she sat listening to the delighted reminiscences of the young people, who presently reviewed their entire acquaintanceship for her benefit. It seemed impossible that this was her Austin, this big-voiced, brown, muscular young man! Austin had always been slender, and rather silent. Austin had always been so close to her, so quick to catch her point of view. He had been nearer her even than Cornelia–