I guess she's goin' on eighteen. Maybe you don't know a deal o'
gals, boy."

The bright face looked up. One swift glance at her companion and she was
bending over her work again.

"I had 'beaus' enough, I reckon, when I was eighteen. Makes me laff when I
think o' Rube. He's always been like what he is now. Jest quiet an' slow.
I came nigh marryin' a feller who's got a swell horse ranch way up in
Canada, through Rube bein' slow. Guess Rube was the man for me, though,
all through. But, you see, I couldn't ask him to marry me. Mussy on us, he
was slow!"

"Did you have to help him out, Ma?"

"Help him? Did you ever know a gal who didn't help her 'beau' out? Boy,
when a gal gets fixed on a man he's got a job if he's goin' to get clear.
Unless he's like my Rube--ter'ble slow."

"That's how you're sizin' me now," said Seth, with a short laugh.

Ma Sampson worked on assiduously.

"Maybe you're slow in some things, Seth," she ventured, after a moment's
thought.

"See here, Ma, I've always reckoned we'd get yarnin' like this some day.
It 'ud please you an' Rube for me to marry Rosebud. Wal, you an' me's
mostly given to talkin' plain. An' I tell you right here that Rosebud
ain't for the likes o' me. Don't you think I'm makin' out myself a poor
sort o' cuss. 'Tain't that. You know, an' I know, Rosebud belongs to
mighty good folk. Wal, before ther's any thought of me an' Rosebud, we're
goin' to locate those friends. It's only honest, Ma, and as such I know
you'll understand. Guess we don't need to say any more."

Mrs. Sampson had ceased working, and sat peering at her boy through her
large spectacles. Seth's look was very determined, and she understood him
well.

She shook her head.

"Guess you're reckoning out your side." She laughed slyly and went on
darning. "Maybe Rosebud won't thank you a heap when you find those
friends. They haven't made much fuss to find her."

"No, Ma. An' that's just it."

"How?" The darning suddenly dropped into Mrs. Sampson's lap.

"Maybe they were killed by the Injuns."

"You're guessin'."

"Maybe I am. But----"

"What do you know, boy?" The old woman was all agog with excitement.

"Not a great deal, Ma," Seth said, with one of his shadowy smiles. "But
what I do makes me want to write a letter. And a long one. An' that sort
of thing ain't easy with me. You see, I'm 'ter'ble slow.'"

Seth's manner was very gentle, but very decided, and Ma Sampson did not
need much explanation. S