"What did I promise you, last night?" he demanded.

"Do you mean to keep that promise?" asked Judith.

"Go out and tend to your milking!" roared John, rising to his feet and
throwing the book across the room. "Get out of my sight, you little fool,
you blankety-blank--" But Judith had fled and Douglas retired to the
kitchen.

Supper was a silent affair. But that evening when the family had gathered
under the lamp to read, Douglas said, "Scott Parsons wants me to take the
mail stage for him Wednesday."

"Where's he going?" asked John.

"Out after his registered bull. It's strayed again."

"Huh!" grunted John. "Are he and Oscar Jefferson still fighting over that
bull?"

"I guess so," replied Douglas. "Can I go, Dad?"

"It will put the dehorning off another day, but I guess you can go. That
extra money will come in handy. How would you like to drive the mail
regularly next winter, Douglas?"

The boy tossed "Treasure Island" on the table. "Do you mean you'd let me
have it?"