"Wal, no: I don't think it is. Come to look it all over, up one side an' down the other, she's been growin' about an inch a month this summer, an' her best dress is gittin' turrible short the best way you can fix it. She's gittin' to be 'most a woman, Bert." "Yes: I know she is," said Bert, significantly. "An' something's got to be done right off." "Wha' d' ye mean by that, ol' man?" "I mean jest this. It's time we did something religious for that girl. She ain't had much chance since she's been here with us. She ain't had no chance at all. Now I move that we send her away to school this winter. Give her a good outfit an' send her away. This ain't no sort o' way for a girl to grow up in." "Wal, I've be'n thinkin' o' that myself; but where'll we send her?" "Oh, back to the States somewhere; Wisconsin or Minnesota--somewhere." "Why not to Boomtown?" "Well, I'll tell yeh, Ans. I've been hearing a good 'eal off an' on about the way we're bringin' her up here 'alone with two rough old codgers,' an' I jest want to give her a better chance than the Territory affords. I want her to git free of us and all like us, for a while; let her see something of the world. Besides, that business over in Belleplain to-day kind o' settled me. The plain facts are, Ans, the people are a little too free with her because she is growin' up here--" "I know some fellers that won't be again." "Well, they are beginnin' to wink an' nudge each other an' to say--" "Go on! What do they say?" "They say she's goin' to be a woman soon; that this fatherly business is bound to play out." "I'd like to see anybody wink when I'm around. I'd smash 'em!" said Anson through his set teeth. "Why, she's our little babe," he broke out, as the full significance of the matter came to him. "My little un; I'm her ol' pap. Why--" He ended in despair. "It's none o' their darn business." "There ain't no use o' howlin', Ans. You can't smash a whole neighborhood." "But what are we goin' to do?" "Well, I'll tell ye what we mustn't do. We mustn't tog her out jest yet." "Why not?" asked Anson, not seeing these subtle distinctions of time and place. "Because, you tog her out this week or next, without any apparent reason, in a new hat an' dress an' gloves, an' go down to one o' these sociables with her, an' you'd have to clean out the whole crowd. They'd all be winkin' an' nudgin' an' grinnin'--see?" "Wal, go on," said the crushed giant. "What'll we do?" "Just let things go on as they are for the present till we git ready to send her to school." "But I promised the togs." "All right. I've stated the case," Gearheart returned, with the air of a man who washed his hands of the whole affair. Anson rose with a sudden gesture. "Jest hear her! whistlin' away like a lark. I don't see how I'm goin' to go in there an' spoil all her fun; I can't do it, that's all."