"It wouldn't of made any difference," says Bonnie Bell then. "I'd of married him anyway. It's just like he says--he never told me about it until just a little while ago. I thought he was some sort of a distant relative of the Wisner family. If you stop to think you can see how all these things happened easy enough. Especially you can when you stop to think that, on foot and off a horse, Curly is apt to do more fool things than a cageful of white rats--God bless him! Because nobody else but him could of done just what he's done!" "Well, it does seem to me," says I then, "that most of this happened account of me. I reckon I made about as many fool breaks as any fellow could," says I. "Like I told your pa, I couldn't see a load of hay. But here's where I quit. It don't look like you need me no more, for things is mixed up now as bad as they can get," says I. "Keep still, Curly," says Bonnie Bell to me. "Set down!" About then I seen them two old men looking at each other. Without saying nothing, they both got up and went out into the parlor together. We couldn't hear what they said. For that matter, we couldn't hear what we said ourselfs, because of something that happened around in there. Their collie dog, Caesar, was barking at us when we come in. He'd sort of got under the table. But now we heard another dog barking plumb crazy. And now in comes from somewhere, out in the garridge or the car maybe, that Boston dog, Peanut, of Bonnie Bell's! He was looking for a settlement too. He don't hesitate, but he goes straight for this collie under the table, and they mix it plenty right then and there, till most of us was glad enough to get up on the chairs. I tried to stop them and the old lady and Bonnie Bell was both hollering at them; but the hired man he raised his hand. "Let them alone!" says he. "They got almost human intelligence someways," says he. "Let 'em alone, so they can have it out." So they had it out for quite a while there in the dining-room, under the table and among the chairs, and under the sofa, and pretty much everywhere, both of 'em enjoying of theirselfs plenty. Their dog, Caesar, had got older now and Peanut he had his hands full; but he was shore industrious and sincere. By and by, after quite a while, they hauled apart and set looking at each other, their tongues hanging out, happy and smiling. Peanut he goes over to his mistress, and he was shaking a ear that was loose. Caesar he goes over to the old lady, limping and holding up his foot, him looking plumb contented. "They'll get along all right now," says the hired man--James, or Jimmie, or Jim, whatever you ought to call him. I couldn't believe he was young Mr. James Wisner. Sometimes I don't hardly even yet. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," says Bonnie Bell. "I declare, men are brutes anyhow!" "I know it, Bonnie Bell," says I. "I've made plenty of trouble, but not no more. I'm taking the morning train West," says I.