“Oh!” she said. Billy traced his finger over the poem; he held his sombrero in the other hand. “How do y’ do?” he answered. She nodded pleasantly; her black eyes were not critical like those of most girls; her smile was encouraging. “I was just reading this here poem. The fellow that wrote it sure had an idee about the West.” She was frank and kindly. “Do you like it?” She looked down at his chaps and at his high-heeled boots. It was as if he had walked out of the poem. “‘Out where the West begins,’” she quoted. “Who wrote it?” “Chapman. He was a Denver newspaper man. Some one had started a dispute as to where the real West begins; so he sat down one day just before the paper went to press and typed out the answer. I think he got it just right. Won’t you come in?” Evidently she was practicing the spirit of the verse. Billy stepped into his own house. And he noted the difference; everything had been renovated and feminized by the coy hands of the girl before him. His own furniture was gone. In its place was a new outfit--a small range, shining tinware on the walls, a table with a white spread--everything spic and span in tidy shape. After getting him a chair she opened the door to take a peep at the pies. In the interval Billy had time to think. “You must excuse me,” she said when she had finished her inspection. “I didn’t want them to burn. They are the first pies I have cooked on our new homestead.” Billy nodded. “You have taken up a homestead?” “Oh, yes. Isn’t it dandy? You must excuse my diction; but I’d rather talk like this now that we are in the real West. I always did want to go homesteading, even when I was a little girl; but I never thought that I was to have the chance. You see, up to a year ago I was teaching school back in Ohio. I always loved the West--loved to read about it and wonder what it was really like. I had a pet dream of a real homestead where we could go out all by ourselves, like our forefathers--or Robinson Crusoe--and build up everything from nothing. I think it just the most fun! The very first thing I did when we came here was to nail Chapman’s verse to the door. Don’t you think that the men of the West are different?” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Billy. “Most of them are, I guess; but I am afraid that there are some who get across the line without knowing it. How did you happen to start homesteading?” “Oh, as to that”--she sat down and began to pat her hair, as if she could make herself look even prettier--“as to that--it was on account of my brother Arthur. He was a bookkeeper. The work in the office had undermined his health and the doctor advised him to try out of doors, to go West if he could. We had saved some money; so we decided to go homesteading.” “What brought you to this particular section?”