for dinner!"

"What does that mean?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, Lord," the Colonel groaned. "I'll tell you another time. Come! You
understand 'dinner,' I hope?"

Entering the dining room Dale's mind was like a country pup walking
stiff-legged into a crowd of city dogs, its hair belligerently on end
and the tip of its tail wagging a friendly compromise. Not that he was
at all defiant, and of course not afraid, but his whole mental attitude
had become one of alert watchfulness, ready to spring this way or that,
to follow this new custom or that new custom, and not intending to lag
if the others made a move. So it was that when the Colonel held a chair
back for Miss Liz, and Bob was seating Jane, Dale, who never in his life
had seen anything of this sort, made a pretense of imitating them for
the convenience of Ann;--and even though she were rudely jolted by the
violence with which he shoved her into the table, her appreciative smile
made him determine to do this thing forever.

"How will you have your coffee, Mr. Dawson?" Miss Liz presently
asked--for dinner at the Colonel's was of the farm variety which scorned
the demitasse.

"A mite of long sweetenin', please Ma'm," he answered to that lady's
utter consternation. She laid down the tongs and stared at him.

"He'll take it as you fix Bob's, Miss Liz," Jane interposed readily
enough to save the situation, and at the next opportunity she turned in
a confidential undertone: "We don't use 'long sweetening' down here,
Dale. People in the valleys use sugar exclusively--'short sweetening,'
as you call it. They don't have to grind and stew up corn-stalks to get
sorghum for their coffee, as we used to do. But I remember how good
that molasses--that 'long sweetening'--was," she added, lying for the
benefit of charity. "Don't forget, they use 'short sweetening' all the
time here in coffee, but they never call it anything but sugar. While on
the subject of customs I want to correct you about something else.
Today, over home, you stood in the drive and halloed for Bob till he
came out for you. That isn't done in the settlements. Here you can walk
right up to anybody's front door and knock, or ring the bell, without
the slightest fear of having a rifle poked through a chink because
people may take you for an enemy. Of course, your way is the proper and
polite thing to do where we come from, but in the valley it isn't good
etiquette."

"What's etiquette?" he as