she told him how Peanut had chased their dog in there and broke up
their bridge party. They both had to laugh at that.

"Their gardener, James, told me that Old Man Wisner ain't much, nor the
old lady neither," says Bonnie Bell after a while. "It's just what I
thought."

"I don't know as he ought to talk that way about the people he works
for," says her pa. "I'd be kind of careful about any man that was
knocking his boss--wouldn't you, Curly?"

"Well, it was all my fault, dad," says she. "He said good morning; then
I ast him about the flowers and he offered to help me with the
crocuses."

"Don't take no help from none of that Wisner outfit," says her pa. "You
hear me?"

As spring come along and the weather got pleasanter, Bonnie Bell was
happier, because she could get out of doors more. Now she took to
running this new power boat we had. It was a whizzer. It didn't take her
long to learn how to run it. About everybody in Millionaire Row had
boathouses on the lake and most of them had these gasoline boats--you
could hear them sput-sputting round out there evenings almost any bright
day.

Her pa didn't like her to go out on the lake very much; being from
Wyoming he was scared of water--especial so much of it. He tells Bonnie
Bell to be careful and, if she must go out on the lake, to only go when
it was smooth.

In one way there wasn't no need to be scared about the girl, for she
could swim like a duck--Old Man Smith taught all of 'em that. Nearly
every morning she would go out in her bathing suit down our walk and
through our garridge, and across the dock, and dive into that water
where it was more than forty feet deep and as cold as ice. She wasn't
afraid. She would come back wet and laughing, and say she liked it. I
wouldn't have done that for a farm. I don't believe in going into water
unless you have to ford.

I hate anything that runs by gasoline, because it's a shore thing that
sooner or later it'll ball up on you somewheres. A good cowhorse is the
only safe thing to go anywhere with, and anybody knows that. Bonnie Bell
coaxed me out in her boat once--but not more than once. The lake wasn't
so rough neither; but the boat riz up and down until I didn't feel
right, and I wouldn't go no more. But Bonnie Bell got so some afternoons
she'd be out hours at a time, ripping and charging up and down, water
flying out from the front of the boat. Mostly she'd ride in her bathing
clothes, and her hair done up under h