Those she did write represented hours of labor, however; for she felt that the weight of nations lay on every word, and she wrote and rewrote the poor little sentences until every vestige of naturalness and of spontaneity were taken out of them. Such information as she could gather seemed always, in her eyes, either too frivolous to be worth notice, or too serious to be of interest. And ever before her frightened eyes loomed the bugbear of PRINT. * * * * * It was during the short vacation of three days at Thanksgiving time that Nancy, the second girl at the Kennedys', came to the parlor door one afternoon and interrupted Genevieve's practising. "Miss Genevieve, I do be hatin' ter tell ye," she began indignantly, "but there's a man at the side door on horseback what is insistin' on seein' of ye; and Mis' Kennedy and Miss Jane ain't home from town yet." "Why, Nancy, who is the man?" "I ain't sayin' that I know, Miss, but I do say that he is powerful rough-lookin' to come to the likes o' this house a-claimin' he's Mis' Granger's cousin, as he does." "Reddy! Why, of course I'll see Reddy," cried Genevieve, springing to her feet. A minute later, to Nancy's vast displeasure, Genevieve was ushering into the sitting room a sandy-haired man in full cowboy costume from broad-brimmed hat and flannel shirt to chaparejos and high-heeled boots. Reddy evidently saw the surprise in Genevieve's face. "Yes, I know," he smiled sheepishly, as Nancy left the room with slow reluctance, "I reckon you're surprised to see me in this rig, and I'll own I hain't wore 'em much since I came; but to-day, to come to see you, I just had to. You see, Miss Genevieve, it's what this 'ere rig stands for that I want to see you about, anyhow." "About--this--rig?" "Well, yes--in a way. It's about the West." "What is it?" "It's Martha--Mis' Granger, my cousin. I want her to go back with me. She's all alone, and so am I. And she'd come in a minute, but she's--afraid." "What of?" Reddy's lips twitched. "Indians and prairie fires and bucking bronchos and buffaloes. She thinks all of 'em run 'round loose all the time--in Texas." Genevieve laughed merrily. "The idea! Haven't you told her they don't?" "Oh, yes; and I've come to see if _you_ won't tell her." "I!" "Yes. She thinks I'm a man and rough anyhow, so I don't count. _Would_ you be willing to come and talk Texas to her?" "Why, of course I will," cried Genevieve. "I'll come right away to-day, after I've finished my hour." "Thank you," sighed Reddy, rising to his feet. "Now I'll hit the trail for Texas inside of a month--you see if I don't! What _you_ say will go." "Oh, but don't be too sure of that, Reddy," frowned Genevieve, anxiously.