No? Well, take yer time: a gift
ain't lightly chosen."
"I shall tackle Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as he rode over the ranch.
"Gloriana is too discreet, but she bought that bonnet for her own
wedding."
Uncle Jake, however, was cunning of fence.
"I don't feel lonesome," he declared. "Ye see I'm a cattle man, an' I
like the travelled trails. I ain't huntin' no quicksands. Many a
feller has mired down tryin' a new crossin'. No, sir, I calkilate ter
remain single."
"He's very foxy," commented Ajax, "but he means business. It really
bothers me that they won't confide in us."
The November rains were unusually heavy that year, and confined us to
the house. Gloriana had borrowed a sewing-machine from a neighbour,
and worked harder than ever, inflaming her eyes and our curiosity. We
speculated daily upon her past, present and future, having little else
to distract us in a life that was duller than a Chinese comedy. We
waxed fat in idleness, but the cook grew lean.
"You're are losing flesh, Gloriana," said I, noting her sunken cheeks
and glittering eyes.
"In a good cause," she replied fervently.
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