“I—I can’t,” Hilda faltered. And then as Maybelle continued to eye her. “It isn’t here.” “Oh, all right—all right for you, Miss Hilda Van Brunt. Anyhow—I found out what I wanted to know. I thought Fayte was lying, but I see he told the truth—for once,” and she flounced into her own room. Hilda was too angry to follow and ask what it was that Fayte had told the truth about. She learned of it later from Lefty Adams, who clerked in the store, and was almost like a member of the family at the Alamositas. She and Maybelle—Jinnie tagging along—had gone to buy marshmallows that evening, and Lefty watched a chance to say to her aside, “No callers over to the house these days, hey? Not getting lonesome, are you? Oh, no—I reckon Fayte’s enough all by his own sweet self. The feller that’s got a girl’s promise usually aims to be enough.” “Lefty, what do you mean by that?” Hilda asked. And when he explained that Fayte was telling all the boys that he and Hilda were as good as engaged—on the sly—she laughed; not because it was funny, or she liked it, but with a sudden appreciation of how probable that must look to any one on the outside. That laugh settled it. Her denials, though they finally became indignant, had no effect. She saw that Lefty, anyhow, was convinced, as Maybelle had been, that what Fayte had told was the truth. As they came out onto the store porch carrying their tin boxes of marshmallows, Jinnie capering at their heels, Maybelle caught Hilda’s arm suddenly and shook it, exclaiming, “Look there! Funny we didn’t see that as we went in.” Tacked to one of the posts, almost directly in front of them, was a placard, roughly lettered, by no very skilled hand: “DANCE AT GRAINGER’S SATURDAY EVENING, MAY 3. ALESSANDRO GALINDRO’S MEXICAN STRING BAND. BARBECUED SHEEP—BARBECUED YEARLING—A GREAT TIME EXPECTED. COME ONE—COME ALL! AND BRING YOUR WIFE AND KIDS AND YOUR SISTER-IN-LAW!” Below had been added—apparently with a burnt match “ESPESHUALLY THE SISTER-IN-LAW.” Jinnie watched their faces as they read; and when, at the last line, they both laughed, she pulled at Hilda’s skirt, squealing. “Tell me! Tell me!” “All right—be still and listen,” said Hilda, and began to read the poster slowly to the child. “It says kids! Can I go? Can I go?” Jinnie hopped up and down in her usual excited fashion. “No—none of us will get to go,” said Hilda, a bit disconsolately. “Maybelle, do you suppose, maybe, your father—?”