conclusion that you ought to have the
togs specified in the indictment" (this to take away the gravity of
what was to follow); "but we're kind o' up a tree about just what we'd
better do. The case is this. We've got to buy a horse to fill out our
team, an' that's a-goin' to take about all we can rake an' scrape."

"We may have to git our groceries on tick. Now, if you could only pull
through till after----" Anson broke in.

"It's purty tough, Flaxie, an' pap's awful sorry; but if you could jest
pull through----"

It was a great blow to poor little Flaxen, and she broke down and cried
unrestrainedly.

"I--I--don't see why I can't have things like the rest o' the girls."
It was her first reproach, and it cut to the heart. Anson swore under
his breath, and was stepping forward to say something when Gearheart
restrained him.

"But, y' see, Flaxie, we ain't askin' you to give up the dress, only to
wait on us for a month or so, till we thrash."

"That's it, babe," said Anson, going over to where she sat, with her
arms lying on the table and her face hidden upon them. "We could spend
dollars then where we couldn't cents now."

"And they won't be any more thingumiyjigs at the church, anyhow, an'
the wheat's blightin' on the knolls, besides."

But the first keen disappointment over, she was her brave self once
more.

"Well, all right, boys," she said, her trembling voice curiously at
variance with her words; "I'll get along somehow, but I tell you I'll
have something scrumptious to pay for this--see if I don't." She was
smiling again faintly, "It'll cost more'n _one_ ten dollars for my
togs, as you call 'em. Now, pap, you go an' milk that cow! An', Bert,
you glue yerself to that churn-dasher, an' don't you stop to breathe or
swear till it's done."

"That's the girl to have--that's our own Flaxie! She knows how hard
things come on a farm," cheered Anson.

"I bet I do," she said, wiping away the last trace of her tears and
smiling at her palpable hit. And then began the thump of the dasher,
and out in the dusk Anson was whistling as he milked.

She went down to the sociable the next night in her old dress, and
bravely looked happy for pap's sake. Bert did not go. Anson was a
rather handsome old fellow. Huge, bearded like a Russian, though the
colour of his beard was a wolf brindle, resembling a bunch of dry
buffalo-grass, Bert was accustomed to say that he looked the father of
the girl, for she had the same robust