as_ a precious rock, too, a fragment of
meteorite, one which fell perhaps in the shower of meteoric stones in
Iowa in '79.

"He's the touchiest child I ever saw," said Burt apologetically, "and
stubborn as a mule; but you'd better set his plate away. I guess the
gentleman will return, since he's twenty-five miles from home."

The farmer's wife called after the boy from the doorway, but he did not
stop. Hatless, with his head thrown back and his fists clenched tight
against his sides, he ran with all his might, his bare feet kicking up
the soft, deep dust. There was something pathetic to her in the lonely
little figure vanishing down the long, straight road. She wished it had
not happened.

"It isn't right to tease a child," she said, going back to her seat.

"Well, there's no sense in his acting like that," Burt answered. "I've
tried to thrash some of that stubbornness out of him, but his will is
hard to break."

"I don't believe in so much whipping," the woman defended. "Traits that
children are punished for sometimes are the makin' of them when they're
grown. I think that's why grandparents are usually easier with their
grandchildren than they were with their own--because they've lived long
enough to see the faults they whipped their children for grow into
virtues. Bruce's stubbornness may be perseverance when he's a man, and
to my way of thinking too much pride is far better than too little."

"Pride or no pride, he'll do as I say," Burt answered, with an
obstinacy of tone which made the farmer's wife comment mentally that it
was not difficult to see from whom the boy had inherited _that_ trait.

But it was the only one, since, save in coloring and features, they were
totally dissimilar, and Burt seemed to have no understanding of his
passionate, warm-hearted, imaginative son. Perhaps, unknown to himself,
he harbored a secret resentment that Bruce had not been the little girl
whose picture had been as fixed and clear in his mind before Bruce came
as though she were already an actuality. She was to have had flaxen
hair, with blue ribbons in it, and teeth like tiny, sharp pearls. She
was to have come dancing to meet him on her toes, and to have snuggled
contentedly on his lap when he returned from long rides on the range.
Boys were all right, but he had a vague notion that they belonged to
their mothers. Bruce was distinctly "his mother's boy," and this was
tacitly understood. It was to her he went with his hurt