just arrived from Alaska to attend the funeral.' 'What funeral?' you'll
say. And I'll say, 'Why, the funeral of that good-for-nothing,
gambling, whiskey-drinking Burning Daylight--the man that died of fatty
degeneration of the heart from sitting in night and day at the business
game 'Yes ma'am,' I'll say, 'he's sure a gone 'coon, but I've come to
take his place and make you happy. And now, ma'am, if you'll allow me,
I'll just meander down to the pasture and milk the cow while you're
getting breakfast.'"

Again he caught her hand and made as if to start with her for the door.
When she resisted, he bent and kissed her again and again.

"I'm sure hungry for you, little woman," he murmured "You make thirty
millions look like thirty cents."

"Do sit down and be sensible," she urged, her cheeks flushed, the
golden light in her eyes burning more golden than he had ever seen it
before.

But Daylight was bent on having his way, and when he sat down it was
with her beside him and his arm around her.

"'Yes, ma'am,' I'll say, 'Burning Daylight was a pretty good cuss, but
it's better that he's gone. He quit rolling up in his rabbit-skins and
sleeping in the snow, and went to living in a chicken-coop. He lifted
up his legs and quit walking and working, and took to existing on
Martini cocktails and Scotch whiskey. He thought he loved you, ma'am,
and he did his best, but he loved his cocktails more, and he loved his
money more, and himself more, and 'most everything else more than he
did you.' And then I'll say, 'Ma'am, you just run your eyes over me and
see how different I am. I ain't got a cocktail thirst, and all the
money I got is a dollar and forty cents and I've got to buy a new ax,
the last one being plumb wore out, and I can love you just about eleven
times as much as your first husband did. You see, ma'am, he went all
to fat. And there ain't ary ounce of fat on me.' And I'll roll up my
sleeve and show you, and say, 'Mrs. Harnish, after having experience
with being married to that old fat money-bags, do you-all mind marrying
a slim young fellow like me?' And you'll just wipe a tear away for poor
old Daylight, and kind of lean toward me with a willing expression in
your eye, and then I'll blush maybe some, being a young fellow, and put
my arm around you, like that, and then--why, then I'll up and marry my
brother's widow, and go out and do the chores while she's cooking a
bite to eat."

"But you haven't answere