She sit up. "No, Alec," she says, "I _ain't_ pore. I've got you, and the best paw a gal _ever_ had, and my home--aw, the _dear_ ole Bar Y! And, Alec, I'm goin'." "Goin' where, little gal?" She come over and stood in front of me, and put her two hands on my arm. "Alec," she says, tears and smiles all to oncet, "I'm goin' t' start home to Oklahomaw." "Start home to Oklahomaw"--them words made me think, of a suddent, about what Billy 'd said t' me at the train. I reached into my inside coat-pocket. "Wait, little gal," I says, "we must read _this_ first. It's that other letter of Up-State's." She opened it, her fingers all thumbs, she was so _ex_cited. And standin' there byside me, with the Perfessor a-watchin' us from a corner, she begun: "_'Dear Alec Lloyd----_'Why, it ain't fer _me,_ Alec." "Go right on, honey." "Dear Alec Lloyd, you'll git this after Macie's gone to Noo York. Alec, you know now the trip was needful. Do you think you could 'a' helt her if she didn't have her try? Mebbe. But you wouldn't 'a' been happy. All her life she 'd 'a felt sore about that career she give up, and been longin' and longin'. "And, Macie, 'cause you'll read this, too--now you know they was somethin' else you wanted more 'n a singin' chanst, and you won't hole it agin me fer sayin' I knowed you wouldn't make no go of it. The op'ra game at its best is a five-hunderd-to-one shot. A turrible big herd plays it, the foreigners git the main prizes, and the hull thing's fixed crooked by all kinds of inside pull. "'Sides, you' voice don't match with crowded streets and sapped-out air. It fits the open desert. Mebbe so many won't listen to it out here, but they'll even things up by the way they'll feel. And this letter is to tell you how I thank y' fer singin' The Mohawk Vale. Gawd bless y', little gal! "And, Alec, all kinds of good luck to you. What's in this letter ain't much, but it'll be a nest-aig." Mace peeked inside the envelope. "Why, here's a bill!" she says. "Alec!" And she drawed it out. "A bill?" I turned it over. "Why--why, it's fer five hunderd dollars! Macie!" Long-Hair got up and started our way, grinnin'. "But _you_ don't git a cent of it," I says, turnin' on him quick. He dodged. "You'd _better_ be keerful," I says. Then, to Macie, "Honey, here's another chanst t' make a try. You can git a _good_ teacher, _this_ time--yas, that's what I said, Perfessor, _a good teacher_--and you'll be the biggest singer in Amuricaw _yet._" And I helt the bill out to her. The only answer she give was t' run to the door and pull at one of them round thing-um-a-jigs that brings a telegraph kid. Next, she come back to a table, found a piece of paper and writ somethin' on it. "Here, Alec," she says, "here. Read this." It said: "Manager Harvey Eatin'-House, Briggs City, Oklahomaw. Please telephone paw that I'm comin' home, and Alec wants back his job."