"Indeed, I was wishing you would," she told him, with surprising frankness. "I've so longed to see a dashing young cowboy roll a cigarette with deft, white fingers." Andy, glancing at her startled, spilled much tobacco down the front of him, stopped to brush it away and let the lazy breeze snatch the tiny oblong of paper from between his unwatchful fingers. Of course, she was joshing him, he thought uneasily, as he separated the leaves of his cigarette book by blowing gently upon them, and singled out another paper. "Are yuh so new to the country that it's anything of a treat?" he asked guardedly. "Yes, I'm new. I'm what you people call a pilgrim. Don't you do it with one hand? I thought--oh, yes! You hold the reins between your firm, white teeth while you roll--" "Lady, I never travelled with no show," Andy protested mildly and untruthfully. _Was_ she just joshing? Or didn't she know any better? She looked sober as anything, but somehow her eyes kind of-- "You see, I know some things about you. Those are chaps" (Heavens! She called them the way they are spelled, without the soft sound of s!) "That you're wearing for--trousers" (Andy blushed modestly. He was not wearing them "for trousers".), "and you've got jingling rowels at your heels, and those are taps--" "You're going to be shy a yard or two of calico if that black lamb-critter has his say-so," Andy cut in remorselessly, and hastily made and lighted his cigarette while she was rescuing her blue calico skirt from the jaws of the black lamb and puckering her eyebrows over the chewed place. When her attention was once more given to him, he was smoking as unobtrusively as possible, and he was gazing at her with a good deal of speculative admiration. He looked hastily down at the lambs. "Mary had _two_ little lambs," he murmured inanely. "They're not mine," she informed him, taking him seriously--or seeming to do so. Andy had some trouble deciding just how much of her was sincere. "They were here when I came, and I can't take them back with me, so there's no use in claiming them. They'd be such a nuisance on the train--" "I reckon they would," Andy agreed, "if yuh had far to go." "Well, you can't call San Jose _close_," she observed, meditatively. "It takes four days to come." "You're a long way from home. Does it--are yuh homesick, ever?" Andy was playing for information without asking directly how long she intended to stay--a question which had suddenly seemed quite important. Also, why was she stopping here with Take-Notice Johnson, away off from everybody? "Seeing I've only been here four days, the novelty hasn't worn off yet," she replied. "But it does seem more like four weeks; and how I'll ever stand two months of it, not ever seeing a soul but father--"