 you're up against a tough proposition, are you, youngsters? How
much of all that stuff do you really want?"

"Not a scrap!" said Alfaretta, frankly.

"Good enough! Well, let me tell you. There's a poor old fellow hangs
out just beyond this station who makes his scanty living selling just
such 'trash.' I'll give you just five minutes to select whatever you
really wish to keep, five minutes more to stow them compactly for our
long buckboard-drive, and about as much longer to make the acquaintance
of my lame peddler and give him your leavings. Five seconds wasted
already, taring at me! Begin, begin!"

The gentleman's face was aglow with happiness and mischief, but there
was a tone in his voice which compelled instant obedience; and long
before the first five minutes had passed all three young folks had
heaped the most of their "things" in a pile in the center of the car.
The rest was quickly strapped in the beautiful Navajo blankets which
Mrs. Ford, or the "Gray Lady"--as they best loved to call her, had
purchased and given them as souvenirs of this wonderful trip. Blankets
that were almost priceless, as only Dorothy knew from Aunt Betty's
explanation, but that Alfaretta considered far less attractive than a
plain white wool one.

A porter, laden with baskets, appeared at that moment, as if by
previous instruction; and into the baskets were tossed or tumbled the
odd collection, everybody working swiftly yet already half-regretfully
that they hadn't kept more.

"That horned toad'll get a rush of blood to his head!" cried Leslie, as
Alfaretta threw her recent "treasure" into the mess.

"Take care, boy! Don't break that alcohol bottle. That centipede mayn't
be as dead as he looks! The horrid leg-gy thing! How in the world did I
ever fancy it? Take care!" warned Dorothy, as Leslie dropped an uncouth
Indian "image" upon the vial.

"Hi, dere! Massa Leslie! Jed'll do de res'!" cried Mr. Ford's own
especial servant, coolly pushing the lad aside and rapidly making a
better arrangement of the articles. Then he shouldered his