Wal, I didn't answer her. What could I 'a' _said?_ And Bergin?--he come nigh pullin' his cow-lick clean out. By this time, that little kid had his bread-basket full. So he clumb down outen his chair and come 'round to the sheriff. Bergin took him on to his lap. The kid lay back and shut his eyes. His maw smiled over at Bergin. Bergin smiled down at the kid. "Wal, folks," I begun, gittin' up, "I'm turrible sorry, but I got to tear myself away. Promised to help the Bar Y boys work a herd." "_Cupid!_" It was the sheriff, voice kinda croaky. "Good-bye fer just now, Mrs. Bridger," (I pretended not t' hear _him_.) "So long, Bergin." And I skedaddled. Two minutes afterwards here they come outen the eatin'-house, the widda totin' a basket and the sheriff totin' the kid. I watched 'em through the crack of Silverstein's front door, and I hummed that good ole song: "He never keers to wander from his own fireside; He never keers to ramble 'r to roam. With his baby on his knee, He's as happy as can be-e-e, Cause they's no-o-o place like home, sweet home." When I got back to the Bar Y, I was dead leary about tellin' Mace that I had half a mind t' git Bergin married off. 'Cause, y' see, I'd been made fun of so much fer my Cupid business; and I hated t' think of doin' somethin' she wouldn't like. But, fin'lly, I managed t' spunk up sufficient, and _de_scribed Mrs. Bridger and the kid, and said what I'd like t' do fer the sheriff. "Alec," says the little gal, "I been tole (Rose tole me) how you like t' help couples that's in love. It's what made me first like you." "Honey! Then you'll help me?" "_Shore,_ I will." I give her a whoppin' smack right on that cute, little, square chin of hern. "You darlin'!" I says. And then I put another where it'd do the most good. "Alec," she says, when she could git a word in edgeways, "this widda comin' is mighty fortu-_nate_. Bergin's too ole fer the gals at the eatin'-house. But Mrs. Bridger'll suit. Now, I'll lope down to the Gap right soon t' visit her, and you go back t' town t' see how him goin' home with her come out." "Mace," I says, "if we _just_ can help such a fine feller t' git settled. But it'll be a job--a' _awful_ job. She's a nice, affection_ate_ little thing. Why, he'd be a _blamed_ sight happier. And he likes the kid----" "Let's not count our chickens 'fore they hatch," breaks in Mace. Wal, I hiked fer town, and found the sheriff right where he was settin' that mornin'. But, say! _he was a changed man!_ No shakin', no caved-in look--_nothin'_ of that kind. He was gazin' thoughtful at a knot in the deepot platform, his mouth was part way open, and they was a sorta sickly grin spread all over them features of hisn. I stopped byside him. "Wal, Sheriff," I says, inquirin'. He sit up. "Aw--is that you, Cupid?" he ast. (I reckon I know a guilty son-of-a-gun when I see one!) I sit down on the other end of the truck. "Did Mrs. Bridger git settled all right?" I begun.