"You can," said Mr. Stillwater. "I’d like to see it. I’ve known you from a little lad and you’re the son of my oldest friend. I’m with you—you can figure what that’s worth." He himself knew how little his wishes would weigh with his opiniative little daughter, in such a case. Glen also realized that fact only too well. What they _said_ was merely a matter of form. They both felt there was a certain etiquette attendant on the subject. "Thank you, Mr. Stillwater. I’m glad to think you consider me a proper husband for Indiana." "Don’t mention it, my boy! and now, I want to give you a little advice. Don’t spring anything on Indiana!" Glen looked at him inquiringly. "Don’t be too sudden—" "Indiana has already received several offers, but I don’t believe anyone of them was a shock to her," answered Glen dryly. He thought also, "How can a fellow be sudden with a girl he’s known ever since she had short, yellow rings curling all over her head, and wasn’t sure on her feet." "She expected those offers, but she never dreams of such a thing from you." "No, I don’t suppose she does," said Glen, gloomily. "Of course, we can’t tell anything about _her_. One never knows what sort of a notion Indiana’s going to take. I don’t want to discourage you—but don’t stake your whole life on this thing, my boy. It won’t do—it never does." Glen drew a deep breath, and turned his head away. "Put your cap on! The sun’s hotter than July." "Oh, Manila has schooled me to this—and worse, if it comes." He compressed his lips, and gazed ahead, past the farm, to the utmost line of horizon, and beyond that. "You’re a true soldier, my boy. Face the music—we’ve all got to, sooner or later." The dinner bell rang again with menace in its brassy tones. "We’d better go back to the house. They’ll give us Hail Columbia! Brace up, Glen, and remember—I’m with you!" Over on the farm-house porch Mrs. Bunker was saying to Kitty: "It’s the last of those men, once they get with the live-stock." "Here they are," said Kitty. "Why, Mr. Stillwater! Dinner’s ready long ago." "Don’t get excited, Kitty; keep cool. This is the hot part of the day. Do you observe that the sun has approached its meridian, Kitty? No occasion for rush here. Rest and quiet, Kitty—that’s my cure. Say, look at Indiana! Isn’t she the sweetest thing that ever happened?" She peeped from behind her mother, dressed in the simple pink and white dimity. Her hair had been smoothly brushed, and hung in one long braid. She looked like a fair and happy child, of not more than fifteen; laughing, refreshed from sleep. Glen gazed at her, but said nothing. His recent confession to Indiana’s father, had the effect of making him conscious and tongue-tied. There was a large orchard on the farm, where lay the afternoon shade. The family repaired there, according to the daily custom, as soon as dinner was over. Hammocks hung in the trees and Kitty spread shawls on the ground, and brought pillows galore.