"Why, sure I am," says she, oscillating the pansies on her hat, "and
so is somebody else, I reckon."

"What time is it to take place?" I asks.

"At six o'clock," says she.

I made up my mind right away what to do. I'd save old Mack if I could.
To have a good, seasoned, ineligible man like that turn chicken for a
girl that hadn't quit eating slate pencils and buttoning in the back
was more than I could look on with easiness.

"Rebosa," says I, earnest, drawing upon my display of knowledge
concerning the feminine intuitions of reason--"ain't there a young man
in Pina--a nice young man that you think a heap of?"

"Yep," says Rebosa, nodding her pansies--"Sure there is! What do you
think! Gracious!"

"Does he like you?" I asks. "How does he stand in the matter?"

"Crazy," says Rebosa. "Ma has to wet down the front steps to keep him
from sitting there all the time. But I guess that'll be all over after
to-night," she winds up with a sigh.

"Rebosa," says I, "you don't really experience any of this adoration
called love for old Mack, do you?"

"Lord! no," says the girl, shaking her head. "I think he's as dry as a