matter of obedience, as is the exasperating habit of parents.
"You don't see any of the bunch going around bareheaded. Only
women and babies do that."

"The bunch goes bareheaded when they get their hats blowed
off in the creek," the Kid pointed out unmoved. "I've seen
you lose your hat mor'n once, old timer. That's nothing." He
sent Chip a sudden, adorable smile which proclaimed him the
child of his mother and which never failed to thrill Chip
secretly,--it was so like the Little Doctor. "You lend me
your hat for a while, dad," he said. "She never said what hat
I had to wear, just so it's a hat. Honest to gran'ma, my
hat's in the creek and I couldn't poke it out with a stick or
anything. It sailed into the swimmin' hole. I was goin' to go
after it," he explained further, "but--a snake was swimmin
--and I hated to 'sturb him."

Chip drew a sharp breath and for one panicky moment
considered imperative the hiring of a body-guard for his Kid.

"You keep out of the pasture, young man!" His tone was stern
to match his perturbation. "And you leave Silver alone--"

The Kid did not wait for more. He lifted up his voice and
wept in bitterness of spirit. Wept so that one could hear him
a mile. Wept so that J. G. Whitmore reading the Great Falls
Tribune on the porch, laid down his paper and asked the world
at large what ailed that doggoned kid now.

"Dell, you better go see what's wrong," he called afterwards