married for a long time."

"Why can't we?" the lover demanded.

"For a number of perfectly good reasons," Jean replied, a grave little
pucker coming upon her forehead.

"Wrinkles!" cried Chetwood. "But I'll love you just as much when--"

"Well, goodness knows, I've enough worries without getting married."

"Cynic!"

"Maybe, but I hope I have some horse sense. Now to start with,
Billy--and please don't be offended--I'd like you to make good, more or
less, before I marry you."

"In what way?"

"Well, I'd like you to have a ranch of your own."

"Any special one?"

"Don't joke about it," Jean reproved him. "You'll find it serious
enough. As you haven't any money now you can't buy a ranch. And so
you'll have to homestead."

Chetwood stared at her for a moment and gulped. "I keep forgetting I'm a
hired man. Go on."

"It's doing you good. You're getting a knowledge of ranching. I think
you know almost enough now to take up a homestead."

"But," Chetwood objected, "I'd have to live on the blinking thing in a
beastly, lonely shack."

"Plenty of good men have lived in lonely shacks."

"I didn't mean that. I meant that I shouldn't see you more than perhaps
four or five times a week. Now--"

"You may not see me at all. I'll tell you why, presently. Anyway, I
wouldn't let you waste your time. I'm serious. You see, Billy--" here
Miss Jean blushed--"you'd be working on your homestead for--for _us_."

"Oh, Lord!" said Chetwood. "That is--I mean--yes, of course. Inspiring
thought and all that sort of thing, what? But how much nicer it would be
if I were able to look forward to seeing you in our humble door as I
came home weary from my daily toil, with--er--roses and honeysuckle and
all that sort of thing clambering about don't you know, and the sweet
odor of--of--"

"Of what, Billy?" Miss Jean prompted softly, in her eyes the expression
of one who gazes upon a fair mental picture. "Of what, Billy?"

"Of pies," Chetwood replied raptly. "Ah! Um!"

"Of wha--a--t!" Miss Jean cried, coming out of her reverie with a start.

"Of pies cooking," Chetwood repeated. "Nice, juicy pies."

"Pies--bah!" Miss Jean ejaculated.

"Say not so," Chetwood responded. "I admire pie. The land of my birth, I
sadly admit, is deficient in pie. But here I adopt the customs of the
country. I am what might be called a pie--oneer--"

"Ugh! Awful!" Miss Jean shuddered.

"Now I thought that quite bright."

"That's the saddest part of