"Let's not talk about it, Dad," she pleaded, turning to him, the tears undried on her cheeks, the sorrow of the years he had made slow and heavy for her in her eyes. "It must be talked about, it must be settled, now and for good, Joan. I have plans for you, I have great plans, Joan." "I don't want to change it now, I'm satisfied with the arrangement we've made on the sheep, Dad. Let me go on like I have been, studying my lessons and looking after the sheep with Charley. I'm satisfied the way it is." "I've planned better things for you, Joan, better from this day forward, and more to your heart. Mackenzie is all well enough for teachin' a little school of childer, but he's not deep enough to be over the likes of you, Joan. I'm thinkin' I'll send you to Cheyenne to the sisters' college at the openin' of the term; very soon now, you'll be makin' ready for leavin' at once." "I don't want to go," said Joan, coldly. "There you'd be taught the true speech of a lady, and the twist of the tongue on French, and the nice little things you've missed here among the sheep, Joan darlin', and that neither me nor your mother nor John Mackenzie--good lad that he is, though mistaken at times, woeful mistaken in his judgment of men--can't give you, gerrel." "No, I'll stay here and work my way out with the sheep," said she. Tim was standing at her side, a bit behind her, and she turned a little more as she denied him, her head so high she might have been listening to the stars. He looked at her with a deep flush coming into his brown face, a frown narrowing his shrewd eyes. "Ain't you that stubborn, now!" he said. "Yes, I am," said Joan. "Then," said Tim, firing up, the ashes of deceit blowing from the fire of his purpose at once, "you'll take what I offer or leave what you've got! I'll have no more shyin' and shillyin' out of you, and me with my word passed to old Malcolm Reid." Joan wheeled round, her face white, fright in her eyes. "You mean the sheep?" she asked. "I mean the sheep--just that an' no less. Do as I'll have you do, and go on to school to be put in polish for the wife of a gentleman, or give up the flock and the interest I allowed you in the increase, and go home and scrape the pots and pans!" "You'd never do that, Dad--you'd never break your word with me, after all I've gone through for you, and take my lambs away from me!" "I would, just so," said Tim. But he did not have the courage to look her in the face as he said it, turning away like a stubborn man who had no cause beneath his feet, but who meant to be stubborn and unjust against it all. "I don't believe it!" she said. "I will so, Joan." "Your word to Malcolm Reid means a whole lot to you, but your word to me means nothing!" Joan spoke in bitterness, her voice vibrating with passion. "It isn't the same," he defended weakly. "No, you can rob your daughter----"