e trail o' your folk, don't matter how, an' I had to
see you righted, come what might. Now it's done. An' I don't see wher' the
hangin' comes in. Guess you ken come an' see Ma later, when things get
quiet agin. I don't take it she hates you a heap."

He spoke almost cheerfully, trying hard to disguise what he really felt.
He knew that with this girl's going all the light would pass out of his
life. He dared not speak in any other way or his resolve would melt before
the tide of feeling which he was struggling to repress. He would have
given something to find excuse to leave the barn, but he made no effort to
do so.

When Rosebud answered him her manner had changed. Seth thought that it was
due to the reasonableness of his own arguments, but then his knowledge of
women was trifling. The girl had read something underlying the man's words
which he had not intended to be there, and had no knowledge of having
expressed. Where a woman's affections are concerned a man is a simple
study, especially if he permits himself to enter into debate. Seth's
strength at all times lay in his silence. He was too honest for his speech
not to betray him.

"Yes, I know, Seth, you are right and I am wrong," she said, and her tone
was half laughing and half crying, and wholly penitent. "That's just it, I
am always wrong. I have done nothing but bring you trouble. I am no help
to you at all. Even this fresh trouble with the Indians is my doing. And
none of you ever blame me. And--and I don't want to go away. Oh, Seth, you
don't know how I want to stay! And you're packing me off like a naughty
child. I am not even asked if I want to go." She finished up with that
quick change to resentment so characteristic of her.

The touch of resentment saved Seth. He found it possible to answer her,
which he did with an assumption of calmness he in no way felt. It was a
pathetic little face that looked up into his. The girl's anger had
brought a flush to her cheeks, but her beautiful eyes were as tearful as
an April sky.

"Guess we've all got to do a heap o' things we don't like, Rosie; a mighty
big heap. An' seems to me the less we like 'em the more sure it is they're
right for us to do. Some folks calls it 'duty.'"

"And you think it's my duty to go?"

Seth nodded.

"My duty, the same as it was your duty always to help me out when I got
into some scrape?"

Without a thought Seth nodded again, and was at once answered by that
hollow little laugh w