quired; and he had smiled slowly at her. "You haven't read them!" she exclaimed.
"No."
"Are you going to tell me there has been no time?"
"No."
Then Molly had scolded her cow-puncher, and to this he had listened with pleasure undisguised, as indeed he listened to every word that she said.
"Why, it has come too late," he had told her when the scolding was over. "If I was one of your little scholars hyeh in Bear Creek school-house, yu' could learn me to like such frillery I reckon. But I'm a mighty ignorant, gro wed-up man."
"So much the worse for you!" said Molly.
"No. I am pretty glad I am a man. Else I could not have learned the thing you have taught me."
But she shut her lips and looked away. On the desk was a letter written from Vermont. "If you don't tell me at once when you decide," had said the arch writer, "never hope to speak to me again. Mary Wood, seriously, I am suspicious. Why do you never mention him nowadays? How exciting to have you bring a live cow-boy to Bennington! We should all come to dinner. Though of course I understand now that many of them have excellent manners. But would he wear his pistol at table?" So the letter ran on. It recounted the latest home gossip and jokes. In answering it Molly Wood had taken no notice of its childish tone here and there.
"Hyeh's some of them cactus blossoms yu'
