side of the dugout, but it
was work thoroughly enjoyed. Lahoma's room was on the west, and from
noon to sundown, the advantage of the window was a source of
never-ending delight.

"Good thing we've got our window," Brick would say as they sat on the
low rude bench before the little stove, and the furious wind of January
howled overhead. Or, when the wintry sky was leaden and all Brick's
side of the partition was as dark as the hole of a prairie-dog, he
would visit Lahoma, and gloat over the dim gray light stealing through
the small panes. "That window's no bad idea!" he would chuckle,
stooping his great bulk cautiously as he seated himself, as if to
lighten his weight by doubling in upon himself.

"Good thing I've got my window," Lahoma would say as the snow lay thick
on the plains and in broken lines all over the mountain, and the
cutting blast made the fire jump with sudden fright. She would hold
her book close to the dirt square in which the frame was planted, and
spell out words she had never heard used, such as "lad," "lass,"
"sport," and the like mysteries. "This window is going to civilize me,
Brick."

It did not lessen their relish in the subject that they had discussed
it already a hundred times. It was the same way with the hand-made
bench, with the trench that carried water from their door during sudden
downpours, and with the self-congratulation over owning two ponies to
keep each other company.

"They's one thing about us, Lahoma, which it ain't according to the big
outside world, and yet I hope it won't never be changed. We are mighty
glad we've got what we've got. And to be glad of what you've got is a
sure way to multiply your property. Every time you brag on that
window, it shines like two windows to me."

Spring came late that year, and in the early days of March, Brick rode
over to the cove behind the precipice after Bill Atkins. "I want you
to come over to my place," he begged, "and answer some of Lahoma's
questions. Being closeted with her in that there dugout all winter,
she has pumped me as dry as a bone."

Perhaps Bill Atkins had had his fill of solitude during that cold
winter--or perhaps he was hungry for another hour of the little girl's
company. Nothing, however, showed his satisfaction as he entered her
chamber. "Here I am," he announced, seating himself on the bench.
This was his only greeting.

"Is it drug or dragged?" demanded Lahoma.

"Dragged."

"Why don't God