at the top of his voice when the Happy Family had reached the
biscuit-and-syrup stage of supper that evening.

"Oh, they're trying to make up their minds whether to bring
the old fannin'-mill along or sell it and buy new when they
get here," Andy informed him imperturbably. "The women-folks
are busy going through their rag bags, cutting the buttons
off all the pants that ain't worth patching no more, and
getting father's socks all darned up."

The Happy Family snickered appreciatively; this was more like
the Andy Green with whom they were accustomed to deal.

"What's daughter doin', about now?" asked Cal Emmett, fixing
his round, baby-blue stare upon Andy.

"Daughter? Why, daughter's leaning over the gate telling him
she wouldn't never LOOK at one of them wild cowboys--the
idea! She's heard all about 'em, and they're too rough and
rude for HER. And she's promising to write every day, and
giving him a lock of hair to keep in the back of his dollar
watch. Pass the cane Juice, somebody."

"Yeah--all right for daughter. If she's a good looker we'll
see if she don't change her verdict about cowboys."

"Who will? You don't call yourself one, do yuh?" Pink flung
at him quickly.

"Well, that depends; I know I ain't any LADY broncho--hey,