your ear. He's a fine
lad, able to hold his own among men, take 'em where they're found.
Don't you heed what the jealous say about the boy, Joan; don't you let
it move you at all."

"I wouldn't have him if he brought his million in a wheelbarrow and
dumped it at my feet."

"It's not a million, as I hear it," Tim corrected, mildly, even a bit
thoughtfully, "not more nor a half."

"Then he's only half as desirable," smiled Joan, the little gleam of
humor striking into her gloomy hour like a sudden ray of sun.

"You'd run sheep till you was bent and gray, and the rheumatiz'
got set in your j'ints, me gerrel, before you'd win to the half of
half a million. Here it comes to you while you're young, with the
keenness to relish it and the free hand to spend the interest off
of it, and sail over the seas and see the world you're longin' to
know and understand."

Joan's hat hung on the saddle-horn, the morning wind was trifling with
light breath in her soft, wave-rippled hair. Her brilliant necktie had
been put aside for one of narrower span and more sober hue, a blue
with white dots. The free ends of it blew round to her shoulder, where
they lay a moment before fluttering off to brush her cheek, as if to
draw by this slight friction some of the color back into it that this
troubled interview had drained away.

She stood with her head high, her chin lifted, determination in her
eyes. Thorned shrubs and stones had left their marks on her strong
boots, the little teeth of the range had frayed the hem of her short
cloth skirt, but she was as fresh to see as a morning-glory in the
sun. Defiance outweighed the old cast of melancholy that clouded her
eyes; her lips were fixed in an expression which was denial in itself
as she stood looking into the wind, her little brown hands clenched at
her sides.

"I want that you should marry him, as I have arranged it with old
Malcolm," said Tim, speaking slowly to give it greater weight. "I have
passed my word; let that be the end."

"I've got a right to have a word, too. Nobody else is as much
concerned in it as me, Dad. You can't put a girl up and sell her like
a sheep."

"It's no sale; it's yourself that comes into the handlin' of the
money."

Tim took her up quickly on it, a gleam in his calculative eye, as if
he saw a convincing way opening ahead of him.

"I couldn't do it, Dad, as far as I'd go to please you; I couldn't--never
in this world! There's something about him--som