“And so she hez, Rafe—so she hez. She kin sing like a bird—kin Myrtle—and when the old man comes home tired from the hunt, mebbe she don’t make his life pleasant by singing and reading. She’s a master reader—is Myrtle.” “I should think that it would be hard to find a teacher in this section, but, from the quality of the books which I see she must be considerably advanced.” “Oh she’s got a teacher,” replied Old Pegs with a sly look at Myrtle, whose cheek flushed like the rose. “A mighty good teacher, I mout say.” “I was about to offer my poor services in that capacity,” said Rafe, “and I am sorry to hear that I am in some degree forestalled.” “Yer cut out intirely,” replied Old Pegs. “The gal won’t take to no other teacher ez she does to this one.” “Where is this wonderful teacher now, if I may ask?” said Rafe with a look of annoyance. “Gone down ter the fort, I reckon. It’s about time fur a lesson, too, and I kin see thet the gal is getting anxious.” “Father!” cried Myrtle. “Thet is gospel truth, gal,” replied Old Pegs with a grin. “I kin see it in yer eye, whenever I look at you.” Rafe was puzzled to understand the manner in which Myrtle received the bantering speech of her father. She seemed ill at ease, and her eyes wandered to the door from time to time as if in expectation. Just then the bear, which had been lying upon the threshold, raised his muzzle and snuffed the air in a peculiar manner, and then rising heavily, started away on an awkward shambling trot in the direction of the entrance to the valley. “The critter smells suthing,” said Old Pegs, drawing his rifle nearer, “and I’ll take a walk outside and see what’s up.” He started out quickly, leaving Rafe Norris with Myrtle. He at once began to improve the opportunity. “It seems strange to me that a lady to all appearance so refined as you are should pass her life in the midst of this desolation.” “I am not ‘a lady’ and I am far from refined, Mr. Norris. Is it lady-like to go out and shoot a deer, bring home steaks and saddle, and catch and cook a mess of trout? I am very much afraid that you are mistaken in me, and think me one of those white-handed misses who mince along the streets of Leavenworth and St. Joseph; but I am not.” “You belie yourself in this, Miss Myrtle. While you stay here of course you must conform to the usages of the society in which you live. But you are fitted to adorn—” She lifted her finger in a playful manner. “No nice speeches, if you please, Mr. Norris, for I am not used to them, and should not know how to appreciate them in the least. I am afraid your intercourse with the fine ladies who dwell in cities, has unfitted you for the realities of life as we find them in the mountains.” “I pray not, for I hope to win your good opinion some day, and to be able to prove to you that such ladies are not to my taste. I admire your spirit—”