ousand head."

"I agree on that."

"And then there's another little point." Tim shifted his feet, jerked
up his trousers, rubbed his chin in a truly Irish way. "That girl of
mine, Joan, she's got it in her head she wants to be a lady, and go to
college and put on agonies. No use in it, as I tell her. No girl
that's got money needs any of the education stuff. I got on without
it, and I made my money without it. Joan she wants you to give her
some lessons. She made me promise I wouldn't take you on unless you'd
agree to that as part of our conditions and contract."

Mackenzie had no need to put on a face of thinking it over seriously;
he was entirely sincere in the silence he held while he revolved it in
his mind. He doubted whether more learning would bring to Joan the
contentment which she lacked in her present state. It might only open
the door to a greater longing, or it might disillusion her when her
feet had left these wild, free hills, and set a pang in her heart like
a flame for the things which knowledge closes the door against the
return for evermore.

"I'll tell you how to handle her to be rid of her soon," said Tim,
winking craftily, seeing how the wind stood. "Discourage her, tell her
she ain't got the mind for books and Latin and mathematics. All the
mathematics she needs is enough to count her sheep and figure her
clip. Tell her to put books out of her head and stick to the range,
marry some good sheepman if one turns up to her taste, or pass them
all up if she likes. But tell her to stick to sheep, whatever she
does. She can be the sheep queen of this country in fifteen years;
she's as handy with 'em now as I am, and I tell you, John, that's
something that's hard for me to say, even of my own girl. But she is;
she's as good a sheepman right now as I am or ever will be. But you
don't need to tell her that."

"I don't believe she'll take it, but it's the soundest advice I could
give her," Mackenzie said.

"Work up to it gradual, lad; it can't be done in a day. Make the
lessons hard, pile the Latin on heavy. Lord, I remember it, back in
the old country, old Father MacGuire layin' it on the lads under his
thumb. Devil a word of it sticks to me now, not even the word for
sheep. I tried to remember some of it when they sent me up to the
legislature in Cheyenne; I wanted to knock 'em over. But it had all
leaked out. Discourage her, man; discourage her."

"Yes, that might be the greatest kindness I could