***




Produced by Al Haines.




                              _THE GIRLS_
                                  _OF_
                          _SILVER SPUR RANCH_


                                   BY

                          GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE

                                  AND

                              ANNE MCQUEEN



                    THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
                               _Chicago_




              MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




                           *LIST OF CHAPTERS*


      I. A Question of Names
     II. Roy Rides to Silver Spur
    III. A Package and a Leather-Brown Phaeton
     IV. A Jewel of Great Price
      V. The Silver Spur Bakery
     VI. A Shiny Black Box
    VII. The Wire Cutter
   VIII. A Partner of the Sun
     IX. The Rose by Another Name




                           _*THE GIRLS OF*_*
                         *_*SILVER SPUR RANCH*_



                              *CHAPTER I*

                         *A Question of Names*


The girls of Silver Spur ranch were all very busy helping Mary, the
eldest, with her wedding sewing.  Silver Spur was rather a pretentious
name for John Spooner's little Texas cattle-farm, but Elizabeth, the
second daughter, who had an ear attuned to sweet sounds, had chosen it;
as a further confirmation of the fact she had covered an old spur with
silver-leaf and hung it over the doorway.  The neighboring ranchers had
laughed, at first, and old Jonah Bean, the one cowboy left in charge of
the small Spooner herd, always sniffed scornfully when he had occasion
to mention the name of his ranch, declaring that The Tin Spoon would
suit it much better.  However, in time everybody became used to it, and
Silver Spur the ranch remained--somehow Elizabeth always had her own
way.

This young lady sat by the window in the little living-room where they
were all at work, and carefully embroidered a big and corpulent "B" on a
sofa-pillow for Mary, who was to marry, in a few days, a young man from
another state who owned the euphonious name of Bellamy--a name Elizabeth
openly envied him.

"I do think Spooner is such a horrid, commonplace sort of name," she
declared with emphatic disapproval.  "Aren't you glad you'll soon be rid
of it, Mary?"

"Um-m," murmured Mary, paying scant heed to Elizabeth's query; she was
hemming a ruffle to trim the little muslin frock which was the last
unfinished garment of her trousseau, and she was too busy for argument.

"As if," continued Elizabeth, "the name wasn't odious enough, father
must needs go and choose a _spoon_ for his brand!  And he might so
easily have made it a _fleur-de-lys_--fairly rubbing it in, as if it was
something to be proud of!"

Just then Mary, finding that the machine needle kept jabbing in one
place, looked about for a cause, and perceived Elizabeth tranquilly
rocking upon one of the unhemmed breadths of her ruffle.

"I'll be much obliged if you'll take your chair off my ruffle, Saint
Elizabeth," she laughed, tugging at the crumpled cloth, "and just don't
worry over the name--try and live up to your looks."

Elizabeth blushed a little as she stooped to disentangle the cloth from
her rocker; she was a very handsome girl, altogether unlike her sisters,
who were all rather short and dark, and plump looking, Cousin Hannah
Pratt declared, as much alike as biscuits cut out of the same batch of
dough. Elizabeth was about sixteen, tall and fair and slim, with large,
serious blue eyes and long, thick blond hair, which she wore plaited in
the form of a coronet or halo about her head--privately, she much
preferred the halo, as best befitting the character of her favorite
heroine, Saint Elizabeth, a canonized queen whom she desired to resemble
in looks and deportment.

"One would have to be a saint to bear with the name of Spooner," she
said, rather crossly, as she tossed Mary her ruffle.

Cousin Hannah Pratt, rocking in the biggest chair, which she filled to
overflowing, lifted her eyes from her work and regarded Elizabeth
meditatively.  "How'd you like to swap it for Mudd, Libby?" she asked
tranquilly.

Elizabeth shuddered--she hated to be called Libby, it was so
commonplace; and Cousin Hannah persisted in calling her