I've heard it called Christian fortitude, an' I've heard it called
Injun stoickcism, an' I've heard it called bulldog grit; but it's a
handy thing to have, no matter what it is. I mean the thing that keeps
a feller good company when the' 's a hurtin' in his heart that he never
quite forgets. A little child away from home an' just sick to go back,
a man who has to grit his teeth an'--but no, the first expresses the
feelin' better--a child, homesick, but keepin' a stiff upper lip; and
it don't make much difference what the age, that's a condition 'at
nobody ever outgrows.
Well, all the years I'd been away the' was a little empty sore spot in
my heart that I couldn't quite forget; but I never aired it none, an' I
don't believe I knew myself how big it was, until I left Slocum's Luck
behind me an' headed for the Diamond Dot. Then I spread a grin on my
face that nothin' wouldn't wipe off, an' I stepped so high an' light
that I was like a nervous man goin' barefoot through a thistle patch. I
was headed for home; an' even a mule that gets dressed down regular
with the neck-yoke gives a little simmer of joy when he's headed toward
home, while a dog,--well, a dog will just naturally joyful himself all
over when the trail doubles back on itself, an' a dog ain't no parlor
loafer, neither, if I'm any judge.
Why, for two years I hadn't polished a saddle, an' I whistled like a
boy when I pictured to myself the feel of a hoss under me. The' 's
somethin' about feelin' a hoss's strength slide into your legs an' up
through your body that must be a good deal like the sensation a saint
enjoys the first fly he takes with his new wings. A little pop-eyed
drug merchant was out here on a tour oncet, an' he asked me the usual
list of blame-fool questions, about what we et an' where we washed an'
if it didn't make us ache to sleep on the hard ground, an so on. When I
had made answers to his queries accordin' to the amount of information
I thought it wise to load him with, he shakes his head solemn like an'
sez, "I do not see where you get any compensation for such a life as
this."
"We don't get any compensation," sez I, "but look at all the hoss-back
ridin' we get to make up for it."
An' there I was with the spring drippin' all about me, the plains
standin' beckonin' to me on every side, just coaxin' to be rode over,
an' me walkin' on foot with flat-heeled boots on!
I had rode out on Sam Cutler's freighter to within' twenty miles o' the
ranch house, an' I built a little fire an' unrolled my blankets; but I
couldn't sleep. I just lay lookin' up at the stars an' tryin' to
imagine what Barbie looked like an' whether Starlight was still at the
ranch, an' every now an' again I tried to decide as to whether I'd grin
or he haughty when I first spied Jabez. I was some anxious to come upon
Barbie first. I knew she'd be glad to see me, but I was rather leery
about Jabez. He would 'a' welcomed a projical son of his own as often
as occasion offered, but he wasn't just the sort of a man to be a
public welcomer. I couldn't picture him puttin' up a sign sayin',
"Projical sons turn to the left. If chicken is proferred to veal, shoot
in the air twice when you get within a mile of the house."
But I was too much elated to worry much, an' along about one o'clock I
rolled up my blankets, kicked out my fire, an' started to drill. When
the sun rose I was in sight of the ranch house, an' the sun seemed to
throw an arm around my shoulder an' go skippin' along by my side--an' I
did skip now an' again.
When I got about a mile from the house I came upon Jabez, walkin' slow
an' lookin' down-hearted. He hadn't changed a mite in the five
years--in fact from what I could see he hadn't even changed his
clothes; so for a moment I thought his sour look was the same ill humor
I'd left him in; an' then I saw it was more serious, an' my heart
stopped with a thump.
He looked up just then an' we stared at each other without speakin'.
"Ain't you dead?" sez he.
"No I ain't," sez I.
"We heard you was," sez he; "killed in a muss over at Danders."
"I don't believe it," sez I, "an' besides, I ain't been in Danders for
over seven years."
"Well, then, what made you stay away so long for?" sez he, sort o'
snappy.
"I don't remember you sheddin' any tears when I left, an' I don't
recall you beggin' me to hurry back," sez I. I was pleased at the way I
was bein' received an' I meant to make him show his hand.
"You know as well as I do that things allus go better on this ranch
when you're here."
"Yes," sez I.
"An' you know 'at I don't like to beg no man to do anything; but you
ought to see that I know that you're the usefullest man I ever had, an'
you oughtn't to be so fly-uppity," sez he.
"Now see here, Jabez," sez I, "you're one o' the kind o' men who never
own up 'at a man was fit to live until after he's dead. You're like
some o' these Easterners--they get so everlastin' entranced with the
beautiful scenery that they forget to water their ridin' hosses. I
don't ask no special favors, but I ain't so mortal thick-skinned
myself, an' you ought to learn sometime that there is hosses 'at work
better when they're not beat up an' yelled at."
"Are you goin' to stay this time?" sez he.
"As long as it's agreeable--all around," sez I. "Is everything goin'
smooth?"
The down-hearted look came into his eyes again. "She won't speak to
me," sez he.
"You don't mean to say 'at you've gone an' got married," sez I, "or
that you are tryin' to?"
"I ain't such a fool," he snaps. "It's Barbie, I mean."
"How long has this been goin' on?" sez I.
"This is the fourth meal," sez he; an' he was so solemn about it that I
was some inclined to snicker, but then it flashed upon me that when I
left, the child was all het up over the letter she'd found in the
attic, and I sobered an' sez, "Is it something 'at's goin' to be hard
to smooth over?"
"I don't see how the deuce it's ever goin' to be smoothed over," sez
Jabez, desperately.
"Would you feel like sort o' hintin' what it was about?" sez I.
"Well, it's about the way she acts," sez Jabez. "Confound it, Happy,
she's the best gal child ever was on this earth, I reckon, but she
don't want to be one, an' she won't act like it, an' she--she won't
dress like it. Every time I argue with her she beats me to it, an' I'm
plumb stumped. Yesterday I told her she had to take 'em off an' wear
dresses, an' she did; but now she won't speak to me."
"You mean that you said that she was never to argue with you again?"
sez I, indignant.
"No, I mean that I sez she must take those confounded buckskin pants
off! She's big enough now to begin to train to become a woman--not a
man."
I had to grin a little, but even though it didn't seem as skeptical to
me as it did to him, I saw he might be right about it. Still, I wasn't
goin' to take sides without hearin' all the evidence, so I sez, "Is she
healthy, Jabez?"
"Healthy?" he sez. "Why, that child could winter through without
shelter an' come out in the spring kickin' up her heels an' snortin'."
"Well, that much is in her favor," sez I. "Is she good at her studies?"
"Where you been that you haven't heard about it?" sez he. "Last winter
she out-ciphered an' out-spelt the schoolmarm, an' she fuddled up one
o' these missionary preachers till he didn't know where he was at. She
has been studyin' about all kinds o' things, an' she cornered him up on
the first chapter o' Genesis. She lined out the school-marm first, an'
the schoolmarm came an' told me that she was an infidel--the' ain't no
sense in havin' women teach school, Happy. You can't reason with 'em
an' you can't fight with 'em an' they just about pester a body to
death. I don't see how Barbie stands it."
"Well, what did you do about her bein' an infidel?" sez I.
"I couldn't do anything to the teacher except tell her what I thought
of her; but next Sunday I had Barbie read to me the first chapter o'
Genesis. Did you ever read it, Happy?"
"Yes," sez I, "I read all of that book an' most of the next one. Me an'
another feller had a dispute about the Bible one time, an' he said it
was the best readin' the' was, an' I said it was too dry. He read me
about a feller in it named Samson, who was full o' jokes an' the
strongest man ever was, I reckon, before he let that Philistine woman
loco him, an' he read about another feller, just a mite of a boy, who
killed a giant with a slingshot in front of an army which had made fun
of him an' was all ready to give in to the giant, an' he read me some
poems about mountains; an' I had to give in that the Bible was the
greatest book ever was. That was up at a little ranch in Idaho, an' he
was goin' to read it all to me an' explain what it meant,--he was full
edicated, this feller was, an' had a voice as soft as a far-off bell,
an' an eye that seemed to reach right out an' shake hands with ya,--but
one day when I was away a posse surprised him, an' though he potted two
of 'em they finally put him out. He left me his Bible with a note in it
which said that he had killed the man all right an' that he would do it
again under the circumstances; but he couldn't tell a word in his own
defense 'count of mixin' in a woman. We never found out a word about
it, not even where the posse came from. Well, afterward I tried to read
it alone; but I couldn't make any headway. For one thing, the' 's too
many pedigrees to keep track of, an' the names are simply awful. I
don't want to be profane nor nothin', but hanged if I think the
Children of Israel was square enough to deserve all the heavenly favors
they got; so I finally gave up tryin' to read it. But what about you
an' Barbie?"
"Well," sez he, "I'd read the Bible clean through from cover to cover
an' I never saw anything unreasonable in it, so I thought I could set
Barbie right without any trouble. She read the first chapter, an' by
that time I was runnin' for cover an' yellin' for help. The' ought to
be something done about that book, it ain't right to try an' raise a
child to be honest, an' tell 'em that they must believe the Bible, an'
then have 'em find out what the Bible really sez."
"Well, what about it?" sez I.
"Well, it sez that the' was light an' darkness an' evenin' an' mornin'
on the first day; on the third day the' was all kinds o' grass an'
herbs yieldin' seeds, an' fruit trees yieldin' fruit; but the' wasn't
no sun or stars until the fourth day. Now how could you have evenings
an' mornings an' grass an' fruit trees without sunshine? You know that
wouldn't work, an' when she put it up to me I simply threw up my hands,
an' sent Spider Kelley with the buckboard to hunt up this missionary
preacher. He was long-haired an' pius, an' when I saw him I felt purty
sure he could straighten it out; but he wasn't game. Barbie argued fair
an' square, an' he lost his temper an' called her an infidel an' a
heretic an' a nagnostic; but she pulled a lot o' books on him, an' he
couldn't understand 'em an' blasphemed 'em something terrible; but he
see he was whipped, an' just simply ran away. I felt mighty bad about
Barbie bein' an infidel until Friar Tuck came around. You remember
Friar Tuck--the one they call an Episcolopian?" Course I remembered
Friar Tuck. Everybody knew him an' he was about as easy to forget as a
stiff neck--though for different reasons. Preachers are about as
different as other humans to begin with, but the women seem more
unanimously bent on spoilin' 'em; so as a general rule I wade in purty
careful when I 'm startin' an acquaintance with a strange one, but I
did know that this here one was all to the right, an' his time belonged
to any one who demanded it. This made him purty wearin' on hosses, an'
when one would give out on him he'd just turn it loose an' rope another
'thout makin' any preliminary about it; all the explanation a body got
was just seein' a tired, stray pony eatin' grass. The first time he
tried that game they gathered up a posse an' ran him down; but he
pulled a Bible on 'em showin' where he got his commission from, threw a
sermon into 'em 'at converted two an' made one other sign the pledge,
an' that put an end to any unsolicited interference in his line o'
work. He was a big man with two right hands, an' some one gave him the
name of Friar Tuck out of a book, an' he was known by it the whole
country over.
I nodded my head: "Did the Friar get fainty about Barbie bein' a
heretic?" sez I.
"No, he didn't," sez Jabez, "he just laughed when I told him about it,
an' he an' Barbie, they wrangled over it for a long time; but he played
fair. When he didn't know the answer he owned up to it, an' then he
told her that the Bible was written by a lot of different men, an' that
the spirit of it was inspired; but that the' wasn't any words ever
invented that could describe creation; because the origin of life was a
thing 'at man wasn't wise enough to comprehend, an' that all the
scientific books ever written couldn't come any nearer to it than that
first chapter of Genesis, which had been written ages ago when the old
Earth was still in its childhood."
"How did Barbie get around this?" sez I.
"Well, she didn't have much to say; he didn't climb up on a perch an'
call her names, he just sat there by her side like they was both
children together; an' then he took some of her books an' explained
things she didn't understand an' pointed out things 'at other
scientists didn't believe in, an' he actually said 'at he believed that
after they had examined the earth all over, inside an' out with a
magnifyin' glass, every last scientist the' was would be willin' to
admit that it must have been created some way or another; and that we'd
all be the better for the work these scientists was doin', but that she
mustn't confuse the word with the spirit, for it was the spirit which
giveth life. He's an A I man, Friar Tuck is; but when I offered him
twice as much a year as he's gettin' to stay an' teach her, he just
laughed again, an' said that I wasn't in no position to double the kind
o' wages he was workin' for. I was a little put out at this, but Barbie
said he was talkin' in parables."
"Was she wearin' the buckskin pants when he was here?" sez I.
"Yes, she was, an' I didn't much like the way he acted about that. At
first he thought she was a boy, an' it made me hot; but he sez to me,
'Didn't God create man first?' I owned up that he did. 'Well, then,'
said he, 'let this child develop the man side of her first, so that she
may have strength an' courage for all her journey.' Everything that man
sez has the ring o' truth in it, an' I didn't have much of a come-back,
except to say that she was overdoing it. He called Barbie over to him
an' looked into her eyes an' put his big hand on her head an' afterward
he sez to me, 'You needn't worry; soon enough a soul which is all woman
will stand before you and ask questions which will make you long for
these days back again. Give her all the time she will take.'"
"What else did he say?" sez I.
"Well, he asked me if I had ever noticed a litter of pups. I said I
had, and he wanted to know if the' was much difference in the way they
played. I owned up that the' wasn't. Then he looked sort o' worried an'
asked me if I had ever found any of 'em to get their sex mixed up bad
enough to have the tangle last through life. I had to admit that I
never had, an' he laughed at me good an' proper--but his laughs never
hurt. I didn't mind about her wearin' the buckskins after that so much."
"Well, then, what made you rear up about 'em yesterday?" sez I.
"I hired a new man when she was out ridin',--day before yesterday it
was,--an' when she came in he thought she was a boy an' kind o' got
gay, an' she panned him out; an' he cussed her an' she drew a gun on
him an' made him take it back, an' he might o' taken some spite out on
her before he found out she was a girl. She is too sizey now, an'
confound it, leggin's an' a short skirt ought to satisfy any
female--but now she won't speak to me, an' I can't go back on my order,
so I don't see how we're goin' to straighten it out."
I pertended to be mad. "Jabez," I sez, "I do wish I could come back to
this ranch just once an' find it runnin' smooth. Here I come all the
way from Nevada just to see it once again, an' I find the boss an' his
daughter ain't on speakin' terms, an' I have to stand palaverin' for a
solid hour without anything bein' asked about my appetite, an' me just
finishin' a twenty-mile walk."
"By George, I'm sorry!" sez Jabez. "But hang it, Happy, you ought to
savvy this place well enough by this time to know 'at no human ever has
to set up an' beg for food. I'm glad to see you 'cause the little girl
does set a heap by you, an' you seem to have a way o' straightenin' out
the kinks. While you're eatin' breakfast see if you can't think up some
way to get her to talkin' again." We started to walk to the house, an'
I sez, "just what was your orders about these buckskins?"
"I told her to take 'em off at once an' throw 'em out the window, sez
he.
"Did she do it?" sez I.
"She allus obeys orders when she drives me to issue 'em--but I allus
get a sting out of it, some way or other. This time I issued the order
at the supper table, an' she went upstairs to her room, stuffed the
suit full o' pillows, stood in the window, an' screamed until me an'
the boys ran out to see what was the matter. Then she threw the figger
out an' we thought she had jumped, an' I made a fool o' myself. It's
playin' with fire every time you cross her, but she allus obeys orders.
Still, it's tarnation hard to be her father--not that I'd trade the job
for any other in the country, at that."
I had to chuckle inward all the way to the house, an' just before we
arrived to it I purt' nigh exploded. Here come a figger, heavily veiled
an' wearin' a shapeless sort of a dress affair made out of a bedquilt
an' draggin' behind on the ground. It walked along slow an' dignified,
like some sort of a heathen ghost, an' when it came to a pebble in the
path it would walk around it an' not step over, all the time holdin' a
hand lookin' glass to see that her toe didn't show. I just took one
side-eye at Jabez an' his face looked like a storm cloud at a picnic;
but when Barbie see who I was she tore off the veil, gathered up her
skirts, an' yelled, "Happy! Happy Hawkins, is it really you?"
"I'm ready to take my oath on it, madame," sez I, not crackin' a smile;
"but if I might make so bold, who are you?"
"Oh, Happy, we thought you was dead," said she, with a little catch in
her voice that made me wink a time or two. "Where have you been all
these years, an' why didn't you come back to us?"
She stood lookin' into my eyes, half tender an' half cross, an' I
couldn't help but try her out to see which would win. "I didn't know
for sure that I'd be welcome," sez I.
"Oh. Happy!" she sez; an' she threw her arms around my neck an' kissed
me, an' then we went in to breakfast. I answered her questions between
bites, an' as soon as we'd finished I proposed we'd go for a ride. "I
haven't crossed a saddle for two years," sez I. "Is Starlight here yet?"
"Well I should say he is, and fat an' bossy," sez she. "The' hasn't
airy another body but me rode him neither. I divide my ridin' between
him an' Hawkins, just ridin' a colt now an' again to keep from gettin'
careless." Then she stopped an' looked down at the thing she was
wearin' an' said, sadly, "But I reckon my ridin' days are over."
"Alas, yes," sez I, usin' Hammy's most solemn voice, "Old Age has set
his seal upon your brow, an' I can see you sitting knitting by the fire
for your few remainin' days."
"Where did you learn to talk that way?" sez she, quick as a wink. So I
told her of my winter at Slocum's Luck, an' she asked me a million
questions about Hammy an' Locals. When I was through she sat silent for
a while an' then she sez, "Happy, I'm goin' to see more o' the world
than just this ranch some day."
"Well, the' ain't much of it that's a whole lot better--an' I've seen
it about all," sez I.
"You seen it about all?" sez she, scornful; "why, you haven't seen the
inside of one real house."
I glanced around, but she snaps in, "This ain't a house, this is just
shelter from the elements. I'm goin' to see mansions an' palaces, an'
I'm goin' to see 'em from the inside too."
"Have you ever read Monte Cristo?" sez I.
"No," sez she.
"Then don't you do it," sez I. "Your head's about as far turned now as
your neck'll stand, an' what you ought to do is to learn how to cook
an' sew."
She looked at me with her eyes snappin', but in a second her face broke
into a grin. "The' ain't a mite o' use in your tryin' that," sez she.
"You like me just as I am, an' you don't need to feel it's your duty to
work in any that teacher stuff. Gee, but I'm glad you came back It
looks as if me an' Dad is in for a long siege of it this time, an'
you'll keep me from gettin' lonesome."
"Not the right answer," sez I. "I'm goin' to leave tomorrow."
Her face grew long in a minute, when she see I meant it. "Happy--you
don't really mean that, do you?"
"Barbie," I sez, "I had to leave before, or take sides. Well, you an'
the boss are warrin' again; I can't fight you, an' I won't side again
him. You don't leave me any choice--I just have to go away again."
"Oh, I don't want you to go away again," she sez. "You allus find more
in things than the rest of 'em ever do, an' I want you to tell me all
about those two queer men you spent the winter with, an' to teach me
just the way the one you call Hammy used his voice. Happy, you just
can't go away again."
"I don't want to go away again," sez I, an' I was down-right in earnest
by this time, "but you make me. Barbie, you are hard-hearted. You know
that your father thinks the world of you--"
"He don't think one speck more of me than I do of him," she snaps in.
"Yes, but he's different," I sez. "He's your father, an' he has to
guide and correct you."
"Well, he don't have to throw in my teeth that I'm a girl every tine I
want to do anything."
"I'm disappointed in you," I sez to her in a hard voice. "I thought
that you would be game, but you're not."
"What ain't I game about?" sez she.
"You're ashamed of bein' a girl," sez I.
"I ain't," sez she. "I'm glad I'm a girl, an' I want to tell you that
the' 's been just about as many heroines as heros too. I don't mean
just these patient women who put up with things; I mean heroines in
history. Look at Joan of Arc!"
"I never heard of her before," sez I, "but I reckon she must have been
Noah's wife." She breaks in an' tells me the story of the French farm
girl who got to be the leader of an army and whipped the king of
England an' was finally burned; an' then, naturally, became a heroine
an' a saint.
"She didn't wear boys clothes, did she?" I sez, thinkin' I had her.
"Yes, she did!" sez Barbie.
"Well, she ought to be ashamed of herself," I said; but I knew I was
gettin' the worst of it, so I changes the subject. "But speakin' about
the Ark," sez I, "there's another example of your obstinacy. When I
went away from here you was fussin' with the school-teachers because
they said this whole earth was once under water, an' now I find you
cuttin' around an' linin' out missionary-preachers because you ain't
suited with the way the Bible was wrote. It looks to me as if you ought
to get old enough sometime to realize 'at you ain't nothin' but a
child. Your father is willin' to give you a fair show; he don't ask you
to act like a girl, all he wants is for you to look like one."
"If I have to wear a skirt, you know mighty well I can't ride," sez she.
"You don't have to wear a thing like what you have on now," I sez. "Why
don't you get over your pout an' be sensible. He never asks you to
humble yourself. All you need is to do what he wants, an' he'll drop it
at once."
"Yes," sez she, "all I need to do is to give up my independence an'
he'll think I'm a nice little girl."
"Why don't you figger out some kind of a dress that would look like a
girl's and--and work like a boy's?" sez I.
She sat thinkin' for a minute an' then sez, "That wouldn't be a
complete surrender, that would only be a compromise; an' I'd be mighty
glad to do it if the' was only some way."
"Where's that picture of the girl who whipped the king?" sez I.
She ran an' got it, an' it was a dandy lookin' girl all right,--it
looked a little mite like Barbie herself,--but she was wearin' clothes
'at most folks would think undesirable; they was made out of iron an'
covered with cloth.
"You don't want to wear any such thing as that, Barbie," sez I, "it
would be too blame hot, an' that bedquilt thing's bad enough."
"That's what they used to fight in," sez she.
"They must 'a' been blame poor shots," sez I. "Why, I could shoot 'em
through those eye-holes as fast as they came up, an' she don't even
wear any head part with hers." Then an idea struck me: "But why don't
you make a suit like her outside one?" sez I. "It comes below her knees
an' yet she can ride in it all right."
Well, we got old Melisse to help us, an' by four o'clock the thing was
done. We had used up some dark-green flannel that Jabez had bought to
have a dress made of, an' which she had kicked on. She took it up to
her room an' I went out to find Jabez. I told him that she was always
willin' to give in when any honorable way was pointed out, an' he was
the tickledest man in the West. He went in to supper four times before
it was ready, but when it finally was ready Barbie wouldn't come down.
Melisse went after her an' come back sayin' that Barbie didn't feel
hungry an' was goin' to wait until after dark an' then wear it outdoors.
"What nonsense!" sez Jabez. "Here she's been wearin' regular buckskin
pants, an' now she fusses up about what you say is a half dress. You go
an' get her."
I went to the head of the stairs an' called her, an' she finally stuck
her head out of her room an' sez, "Happy, I just can't wear this thing.
It flaps!"
"Let it flap!" sez I. "You're just like a colt gettin' used to a
single-tree; you won't mind it after the first hour. Let me see how it
looks."
She opens the door an' stands with a queer new look on her face, an'
her cheeks pink as wild roses. I hadn't never seen those cheeks pink up
for anything but fun or anger before, an' it flashed upon me what Friar
Tuck had told Jabez; an' I was willin' to bet that the time would come
when he'd have full as much girl on his hands as any one man could wish.
The waist part of it was loose an' low in the neck an' came to a little
below the knees where the leggin's began. The upper part of the
leggin's which you couldn't see were loose an' easy. Her little legs
looked cute an' shapely, an' her smooth, round throat came up from the
open neck mighty winnin'--the whole thing was just right an' I sez to
her, "Why, Barbie, this is the finest rig you ever had on, an' you're
as purty as a picture."
Well, her face went the color of a sunset an' she slammed the door. "If
I was your Dad," sez I to myself, "you'd go back to those buckskins
to-morrow." I waited a moment an' then I began to make fun of her, and
after a while she came out with her teeth set tight together an' we
went down to the dinin' room; but it was the first time I had ever seen
her take an awkward step.
"Now that's what I call a sensible garment," sez Jabez, heartily, an'
then he begun talkin' to me. Jabez had a lot o' wisdom when he kept his
head, an' by the time supper was over Barbie was purty well used to the
feel, an' we all three went for a ride; me ridin' Starlight, Barbie,
Hawkins, an' Jabez a strappin' bay, one of Pluto's colts, an' a beauty.
Well, I'll never forget that ride: you know how tobacco tastes after a
man owns up that he was only jokin' when he swore off; you know how
liquor seems to ooz all through you after you've been out in the alkali
for three months--well, that first ride, after bein' out o' commission
for two years, makes these two sensations something like the affection
a man has for sour-dough bread. Oh, it was glorious! we all felt like a
flock o' birds--hosses an' all. In the first place it was spring, an'
that was excuse enough if the' hadn't been any other; but two of us had
gone into that day not on speakin' terms, an' now they were closer than
ever, an' the third one had brought 'em together. The old sayin' is
that three's a crowd, but it took a crowd to hold all the joyfulness
that we was luggin' that night, an' it was ten o'clock before we turned
around on the velvet carpet an' came swingin' back to the house.
We had to finish with a little race, an' I was rejoiced to see that old
Starlight hadn't become a back number, even though the bay colt did
make it a mighty close finish.
As soon as we unsaddled, Barbie sort o' whispered to me, "I 'm awful
glad you came back, Happy"; an' then she ran into the house.
Jabez shook hands an' sez, "It seems to me, Happy, that I've been
waitin' for you for months. I hope to goodness you don't fly up any
more."
"I ain't goin' to look for trouble, Jabez," sez I. "This spot is the
most homelike to me of any on earth; but I don't believe I'll turn in
yet. I want to stroll around a little."
I walked off in the quiet to the little mound where Monody lay, an' I
sat there a long while, thinkin' o' the last time I'd come back. The
night was unusual warm, an' I hunted up all the stars that I knew, an'
watched 'em as they dropped down one by one behind the mountains. I
thought of all that Friar Tuck had said about the origin of life, an'
what a nerve a child like Barbie had to even study on such a subject.
Then I dropped back to all the happiness I'd had that day, an' the last
thing I knew I was lookin' into Barbie's eyes an' wonderin' what made
her face so pink. It was the cold, gray dawn-wind that woke me up.