love_ to mend for Tommy, but I always hated to mend
before," said the missus.

"You bet," Mr. Burney answered, "it is sure fine to know there's
somebody at home with a pretty pink dress on, waitin' for a fellow
when he comes in from a long day in the saddle."

And so they kept up their thoughtless chatter; but every word was as a
stab to poor Aunt Hettie. She had Baby Girl on her lap and was giving
the children their supper, but I noticed that she ate nothing. It was
easy to see that she was not strong. Baby Girl is four years old and
is the fattest little thing. She has very dark blue eyes with long,
black lashes, and the shortest, most turned-up little nose. She is so
plump and rosy that even the faded old blue denim dress could not hide
her loveliness.

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy could not keep her eyes off the children. "What is
the little girl's name?" she asked.

"Caroline Agnes Lucia Lavina Ida Eunice," was the astonishing reply.

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy gasped. "My _goodness_," she exclaimed; "is that
_all_?"

"Oh, no," Aunt Hettie went on placidly; "you see, her mother couldn't
call her all the names, so she just used the first letters. They spell
Callie; so that is what she called her. But I don't like the name. I
call her Baby Girl."

I asked her how she ever came to name her that way, and she said, "My
sister wanted a girl, but there were six boys before this little one
came. Each time she hoped it would be a girl, and accordingly selected
a name for a girl. So there were six names saved up, and as there
wasn't much else to give her, my sister gave them _all_ to the baby."

After supper the Burneys rode down to camp with us. We had the same
camping ground that we had when we came up. The cabin across the
creek, where we met Grandma Mortimer, is silent and deserted; the
young couple have moved away with their baby.

Mrs. O'Shaughnessy kept talking about the fight, and Mr. Burney gave
us the history of the children. "Their mother," he began, "has been
dead about eighteen months. She really died with a broken heart. Baby
Girl was only a few weeks old when the father went to Alaska, and I
guess he's dead. He was to 'a' been back in three years, and no one
has ever heard a word from him. His name was Bolton; he was a good
fellow, only he went bughouse over the gold fields and just fretted
till he got away--sold everything for a grub stake--left his wife and
seven kids almost homeless. But they managed some way till