"Howdy, folks!--guess yuh thought I'd plumb lost the trail back," he called to them over his shoulder while he dove after suitcases, packages of various sizes and shapes, a box or two which the Happy Family recognized as containing "raw stock," and a camera tripod that looked perfectly new.
From the congested tonneau a tall, slim young woman managed to descend without stepping on anything that could not bear being stepped upon.

She gave her skirts a little shake, pushed back a flying strand of hair and turned her back to the machine that she might the better inspect her immediate surroundings.
Old Dave Wiswell, the dried little man who never had much to say, peered at her sharply, hesitated and then came forward with his bony hand outstretched and trembling with eagerness.

"Why, my gorry! If it ain't Jean Douglas, my eyes are lyin' to me," he cried.
"It isn't Jean Douglas--but don't blame your eyes for that," said the girl, taking his hand and shaking it frankly.

"Jean Douglas Avery, thanks to the law that makes a girl trade her name for a husband.

You know Lite, of course--dad, too." "Well, well--my gorry I I should say I do! Howdy, Aleck ?" He shook the hand of the old man Jean called dad, and his lips trembled uncertainly, seeking speech that would not hurt a very, very sore spot in the heart of big Aleck Douglas.