l-harrowing than that love song he sang for us last night
I cannot conceive. But really, Kate, I am not afraid to stay alone. You
know what John says: we ought to be always prepared for anything that
might happen.

"My dear Josie," returned Kate, putting her arm around her sister's
waist, "I am perfectly convinced that if three-fingered Jack,
or two-toed Bill, or even Joaquim Murietta himself, should step,
red-handed, on that veranda, you would gently invite him to take a cup
of tea, inquire about the state of the road, and refrain delicately
from any allusions to the sheriff. But I shan't take Manuel from you.
I really cannot undertake to look after his morals at the station, and
keep him from drinking aguardiente with suspicious characters at the
bar. It is true he 'kisses my hand' in his speech, even when it is
thickest, and offers his back to me for a horse-block, but I think
I prefer the sober and honest familiarity of even that Pike County
landlord who is satisfied to say, 'Jump, girl, and I'll ketch ye!'"

"I hope you didn't change your manner to either of them for that," said
Mrs. Hale with a faint sigh. "John wants to be good friends with them,
and they are behaving quite decently lately, considering that they can't
speak a grammatical sentence nor know the use of a fork."

"And now the man puts on gloves and a tall hat to come here on Sundays,
and the woman won't call until you've called first," retorted Kate;
"perhaps you call that improvement. The fact is, Josephine," continued
the young girl, folding her arms demurely, "we might as well admit it at
once--these people don't like us."

"That's impossible!" said Mrs. Hale, with sublime simplicity. "You don't
like them, you mean."

"I like them better than you do, Josie, and that's the reason why I feel
it and YOU don't." She checked herself, and after a pause resumed in a
lighter tone: "No; I sha'n't go to the station; I'll commune with nature
to-day, and won't 'take any humanity in mine, thank you,' as Bill the
driver says. Adios."

"I wish Kate would not use that dreadful slang, even in jest," said
Mrs. Scott, in her rocking-chair at the French window, when Josephine
reentered the parlor as her sister walked briskly away. "I am afraid
she is being infected by the people at the station. She ought to have a
change."

"I was just thinking," said Josephine, looking abstractedly at her
mother, "that I would try to get John to take her to San Francisco thi