"I never asked her."

"You trot right into the house and stay there," said Uncle Frank.

Little Jim cast an appealing glance at Cheyenne and walked slowly toward
the house, incidentally and unconsciously rubbing his hand across his
jeans with a sort of anticipatory movement. He bit his lip, and the
tears started to his eyes. But he shook them away, wondering what he
might do to avert the coming storm. Perhaps his father would interpose
between him and the dreaded harness strap. Yet Jimmy knew that his
father had never interfered when a question of discipline arose.

Suddenly Little Jim's face brightened. He marched through the house to
the wash bench, and, unsolicited, washed his hands and face and soaped
his hair, after which he slicked it down carefully, so that there might
be no mistake about his having brushed and combed it. He rather hoped
that Uncle Frank or Aunt Jane would come in just then and find him at
this unaccustomed task. It might help.

Meanwhile, Cheyenne and his brother-in-law had a talk, outside. Dorothy
and Aunt Jane retired to the veranda, talking in low tones. Presently
Little Jim, who could stand the strain no longer,--the jury seemed a
long time at arriving at a verdict,--appeared on the front veranda,
hatless, washed, and his hair fearfully and wonderfully brushed and
combed.

"Why, Jimmy!" exclaimed Dorothy.

Jimmy fidgeted and glanced away bashfully. Presently he stole to his