ntly she
went on. "I've learned a lot in the last few days," she said quietly,
gazing a little wistfully out of the window. "But nobody has actually told
me anything. You see," with a shadowy smile, "I notice things near at
hand. I don't calculate ahead. I often talk to Little Black Fox. He is
easy to read. Much easier than you are, Seth," she finished up, with a
wise little nod.

"An' you've figgered out my danger?" Seth surveyed the trim figure
reposing with such unconscious grace upon the table. He could have feasted
his eyes upon it, but returned to a contemplation of his note-paper.

"Yes. Will you promise me, Seth--dear old Seth?"

The man shook his head. The wheedling tone was hard to resist.

"I can't do that," he said. "You see, Rosebud, ther's many things take me
there which must be done. Guess I git around after you at times. That
could be altered, eh?"

"I don't think you're kind, Seth!" The girl pouted her disappointment, but
there was some other feeling underlying her manner. The man looked up with
infinite kindness in his eyes, but he gave no sign of any other feeling.

"Little Rosebud," he said, "if ther's a creetur in this world I've a
notion to be kind to, I guess she ain't more'n a mile from me now. But, as
I said, ther's things that take me to the Reservation. Rube ken tell you.
So----"

The man broke off, and dipped his pen in the ink. Rosebud watched him,
and, for once in her wilful life, forgot that she had been refused
something, and consequently to be angry. She looked at the head bending
over the paper as the man inscribed, "Dear sirs," and that something which
had peeped out of her eyes earlier in their interview was again to be seen
there.

She reached out a hand as she slid from the table and smoothed the head of
dark hair with it.

"All right, Seth," she said gently. "We'll have no promises, but take care
of yourself, because you are my own old--'Daddy.'"

At the door she turned.

"You can write your letter now," she said, with a light laugh. The next
moment she was gone.

CHAPTER XI

THE LETTER WRITTEN

But Seth's trials were not yet over. The two interviews just passed had
given Ma Sampson sufficient time to complete her household duties. And now
she entered her parlor, the pride of her home.

She came in quite unaware of Seth's presence there. But when she observed
him at the table with his writing materials spread out before him, she
paused.

"Oh," she excl