on
the plains--just like a little buffalo calf."

He glimpsed obliquely at her, his old face full of whimsical
tenderness. She smiled bravely and he saw above the smile, her eyes,
untouched by it. He instantly became grave.

"Well, what's goin' to happen?" he asked soberly.

"I'm going to be married."

He raised his eyebrows and gave a whistle.

"That is somethin'! And which is it?"

"What a question! David, of course. Who else could it be?"

"Well, he's the best," he spoke slowly, with considering phlegm. "He's
a first-rate boy as far as he goes."

"I don't think that's a very nice way to speak of him. Can't you say
something better?"

The old man looked over the mules' backs for a moment of inward
cogitation. He was not surprised at the news but he was surprised at
something in his Missy's manner, a lack of the joyfulness, that he,
too, had thought an attribute of all intending brides.

"He's a good boy," he said thoughtfully. "No one can say he ain't.
But some way or other, I'd rather have had a bigger man for you, Missy."

"Bigger!" she exclaimed indignantly. "He's nearly six feet. And girls
don't pick out their husbands because of their height."

"I ain't meant it that way. Bigger in what's in him--can get hold o'
more, got a bigger reach."

"I don't know what you mean. If you're trying to say he's not got a
big mind you're all wrong. He knows more than anybody I ever met
except father. He's read hundreds and hundreds of books."

"That's it--too many books. Books is good enough but they ain't the
right sort 'er meat for a feller that's got to hit out for himself in a
new country. They're all right in the city where you got the butcher
and the police and a kerosene lamp to read 'em by. David 'ud be a fine
boy in the town just as his books is suitable in the town. But this
ain't the town. And the men that are the right kind out here ain't
particularly set on books. I'd 'a' chose a harder feller for you,
Missy, that could have stood up to anything and didn't have no soft
feelings to hamper him."

"Rubbish," she snapped. "Why don't you encourage me?"

Her tone drew his eyes, sharp as a squirrel's and charged with quick
concern. Her face was partly turned away. The curve of her cheek was
devoid of its usual dusky color, her fingers played on her under lip as
if it were a little flute.

"What do you want to be encouraged for?" he said low, as if afraid of
being overheard.