more than three weeks off!"

"Three weeks, do you say? That's bad. The poor lad ought to be given two
weeks' notice at least. So if any one was to write him, they'd better
begin at once. They'd have to write every day for a week pretty
steadily."

"Is that all, Danny?"

"It's all I think of just now. If you was to sit awhile longer, Rosie,
maybe something more would come to me."

"I don't believe I better, Danny. I'm awful busy. I must get home."

"But you'll stop awhile tomorrow, darlint, won't you? Promise me you
will."

Rosie thought a moment. "It's this way, Danny: I'm a little behind in
school and I've got to catch up. And, besides that, I'll be very busy
for a week on something else. I don't believe I'll have time to stop
tomorrow but, if I have, I will. Good-bye."

Rosie started off, then turned back a little shyly. She put her arm
about old Danny's neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Danny, you're
awful good to me. And do you know, Danny, after Jarge and Geraldine and
Janet I think I love you best of all!"

Danny chuckled. "Well, I suppose fourth ch'ice is better than no ch'ice
at all!"

CHAPTER XLII

THE ROSIE MORROW

For a whole week Rosie worked away at her letter. She followed Danny's
advice and added new pages each day. As a result her manuscript grew in
bulk with startling rapidity. She had to buy a big envelope for it and
then spend a large part of a week's wages on postage stamps.

Here is what she wrote:

DEAR GEORGE,

How are you and how is your mother and how is your father? Tell your
mother that Geraldine is growing so fast that she would hardly know her.

George, I've got some bad news for you. Only it isn't as bad as it
sounds, for I know it will be all right in the end. George, Ellen's got
married. He's a feather salesman. He wears sporty clothes. He's
twenty-six years old. That makes him seven years older than Ellen. He's
a good-looker. Him and Ellen are just the same kind. They both like to
dress and to gad around.

George, I know you're going to feel awful bad about this at first, but
listen, George, it would have been an awful thing to plant Ellen out on
a farm. She would have hated it. She would have been unhappy and that
would have made you unhappy. And I don't think Ellen and your mother
would have liked each other either and they would have to live together
and then where would you be? George, don't you see, you're a farmer and
you ought to pick out the kind o