August came. The first few days of the month were particularly busy ones as some of the boys were off to a round-up on the fifth, and Mr. Hartley was going with them for a week. To the girls the big four-horse for the food and bedding—the "wheeled house" that was to be home for the boys—was always an object of great interest. Then there was the excitement of the start on the day itself, which this time was made particularly by the going of Mr. Hartley.  
The house seemed very lonely without its , generous-hearted owner, and everybody was glad that he had promised to come back in a week. Meanwhile, of course, there was "the man."
 
The man was he who had been found by the girls in the prairie grass. He was still almost as much of a mystery as ever. Mr. Hartley had insisted upon his staying—and, indeed (though no bones were broken), he was quite too badly injured to be moved for a time. He was able now to sit in the big comfortable chairs on the back gallery; and he spent hours there every day, sometimes reading, more often sitting motionless, with his dark eyes closed, and his hands resting on his by his side.
 
He had not seemed to care to talk of himself. He had merely said that his horse had thrown him, and that he had lain in the grass for some time before he was found. He was quiet, had good manners, and used good language. He said that his name was John Edwards. He seemed deeply grateful for all kindness shown him, but was plainly anxious to be well enough to be on his way again. Mr. Hartley, however, had won his promise to remain till he himself returned from the round-up.
 
All the young people did their best to make the injured man's time pass as pleasantly as possible; and very often one or another of them might be found reading to him, or playing a game of checkers or chess with him.
 
It was on such an occasion that Cordelia Wilson, at the conclusion of a game of checkers, found the courage to say something that had long been on her mind.
 
"Mr. Edwards, do—do you know Texas very well?"
 
The man smiled a little.
 
"Well, Miss Cordelia, Texas is rather large, you know."
 
Cordelia sighed almost impatiently.
 
"Dear me! I—I wish every one wouldn't always say that," she . "It's so discouraging!"
 
"Dis—couraging?"
 
"Yes—when you're trying to find some one."
 
"Oh! And are you trying to find some one?"
 
"Yes, sir; four some ones."
 
"Well, I should think that might be difficult—in Texas, unless you know where they are," smiled the man.
 
"I don't; and that's what's the matter," sighed Cordelia. "That's why I was going to ask you, to see if you didn't know, perhaps."
 
"Ask me?"
 
"Yes. That is, if you had been around any—in Texas. You see I ask everybody, almost. I have to," she apologized a little wistfully. "And even then it looks as if I should have to go back to Sunbridge without finding one of them. And I'd so hate to do that!"
 
The man started visibly.
 
"Go back—where?"
 
"To Sunbridge."
 
"Sunbridge—?"
 
"Sunbridge, New Hampshire; home, you know."
 
An odd expression crossed the man's face.
 
"No—I didn't know," he said, after a moment.
 
"Why, didn't any of us ever tell you we were from the East?" cried Cordelia.
 
"Oh, yes, lots of times. But you never happened to mention the town before, I think."
 
"Why, how funny!" murmured Cordelia.
 
The man did not speak. He seemed to have fallen into a reverie. Cordelia stirred restlessly in her seat.
 
"Did you say you would help me?" she asked at last, timidly.
 
"Help you?" The man seemed to have forgotten what she had been speaking of.
 
"Help me to find them, you know—those people I'm looking for."
 
"Why, of course," laughed the man, easily. "Who are—" He stopped . For the second time an odd expression crossed his face. "Are they—Sunbridge people?" he asked, stooping to pick up a dried leaf from the gallery floor.
 
"Yes, Mr. Edwards. There are four of them—three men and one woman. They are John Sanborn, Lester Goodwin, James Hunt, and Mrs. Lizzie Higgins. Maybe you know some of them. Do you?"
 
"Well, Miss Cordelia,"—the man stopped a minute, as he reached for a leaf still farther away—"is that quite to be expected?" he asked then, lightly.
 
"No, I suppose not," she sighed; "for, of course, Texas is big. But if you would please just put their[189] names down on paper same as the others have, that would help a great deal."
 
"Why, certainly," agreed the man, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a little notebook not unlike the minister's. "Now suppose you—you give me those names again, Miss Cordelia."
 
"John Sanborn, Lester Goodwin, James Hunt, and Mrs. Lizzie Higgins. And I am Cordelia Wilson, you know. Just 'Sunbridge, New Hampshire,' would reach me—if you found any of them."
 
"I'll remember—if I find any of them," murmured the man, as he wrote the last name.
 
"And thank you so much!" beamed Cordelia.
 
There was a moment's silence. The man was playing with his pencil.
 
"Did you say you were asked to find these people?" he inquired at last, examining the lead of his pencil intently.
 
"Oh, yes, sir."
 
"Indeed! And may I inquire who asked you?"
 
"Why, of course! The people who belong to them—who are so anxious for them to come back, you know."
 
"Oh, then they want them?" The man was still examining the point of his pencil.
 
"Indeed they do, Mr. Edwards," cried Cordelia, glad to find her new audience so interested. "Mrs. Lizzie Higgins eloped years ago, and her mother, Mrs. Snow, is terribly worried. She's never heard a word from her. Mrs. Granger is a widow, and very poor. Her husband died last year. She hasn't any one left but her cousin, Lester Goodwin, now, and she so wishes she could find him. Lester's had some money left him, but if he isn't found this year, it'll go to some one else."
 
"Oh!" The man gave a short little laugh that sounded not quite pleasant, as he lifted his head suddenly. "I begin to see. Mrs. Granger thinks if she had Lester, and Lester had the money, why she'd get the money, too, eh?"
 
"Oh, no, sir—not exactly," objected Cordelia. "You see, if he isn't found the money goes to her, so she thinks she ought to make a special effort to find him. She says she wouldn't sleep a if she took all that money without trying to find him; so she asked me. Of course the lawyers are hunting, anyway."
 
"Oh-h!" said the man again; but this time he did not laugh. "Hm-m; well—are there any fortunes left the other two?" he asked, after a moment's silence. He had gone back to his pencil point.
 
"Oh, no, sir," laughed Cordelia, a little ruefully. "I'm afraid they won't think so. They're wanted to help folks."
 
"To help folks!"
 
"Yes, sir. You see John Sanborn's father is very poor, and he lives all alone in a little bit of a house in the woods. He's called ' Joe.'"
 
"Yes—go on," bade the man, as Cordelia stopped for breath. The man's voice was husky—perhaps because he had stooped to pick up another dried leaf.
 
"There isn't much more about him, only he's terribly lonesome and wants his boy, he says. You see, the boy ran away years and years ago. I don't think that was very nice of him. Do you?"
 
There was no answer. The man sat now with his hand over his eyes. Cordelia wondered if perhaps she had tired him.
 
"And that's all," she said hurriedly; "only Sally Hunt's brother, James. If he isn't found she'll have to go to the Poor Farm, I'm afraid."
 
"What?"
 
Cordelia started . The man had turned upon her so sharply that his crutches fell to the floor with a crash.
 
"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon," she apologized, springing to her feet. "I'm so afraid you were asleep, and I startled you. I—I will go now. And—and thank you ever so much for writing down those names!"
 
The man shook his head decidedly.
 
"Don't go," he begged. "You have not tired me, and I like to hear you talk. Now sit down, please, and tell me all about these people—this James Hunt's sister, and all the rest."
 
"Oh, do you really want to know about them?" cried Cordelia, . "Then I will tell you; for maybe it would help you find them, you know."
 
"Yes, maybe it would," agreed the man, in a voice, as Cordelia seated herself again at his side. "Now talk."
 
And Cordelia talked. She talked not only then, but several times after that, and she talked always of Sunbridge. Mr. Edwards seemed so interested in everything and everybody there, though , of course, in the relatives of the four lost people she was trying to find—which was natural, certainly, thought Cordelia, inasmuch as he, too, was going to search for them in the weeks to come.
 
Mr. Edwards improved in health very rapidly these days. He discarded his crutches, and seemed anxious to test his strength on every occasion. Upon Mr. Hartley's return from the round-up, the injured man insisted that he was quite well enough to go away; and, in spite of the kind ranchman's protests, he did go the next day after Mr. Hartley's return. Carlos drove him to Bolo, and the Happy Hexagons stood on the ranch-house steps and gave him their Texas yell as a send-off, substituting a lusty "MR. EDWARDS" for Genevieve's name at the end.
 
"That is the most convenient yell," <............