Neither would have spoken it
openly, even though no one was there to overhear. Each felt that they were
somehow taking advantage of Seth and, perhaps, not doing quite the right
thing by Rosebud; but after all they were old, simple people who loved
these two, and had never quite given up the hope of seeing them ultimately
brought together.

The meal was finished, and half an hour later they were further working
out their mild conspiracy in the parlor. Ma was the scribe, and was seated
at the table surrounded by all the appurtenances of her business. Rube, in
a great mental effort, was clouding the atmosphere with the reeking fumes
of his pipe. The letter was a delicate matter, and its responsibility sat
heavily on this man of the plains. Ma was less embarrassed; her woman's
instinct helped her. Besides, since Rosebud had been away she had almost
become used to writing letters.

"Say, Rube," she said, looking up after heading her note-paper, "how d'
you think it'll fix her when she hears?"

Rube gazed at the twinkling eyes raised to his; he gave a chuckling grunt,
and his words came with elephantine meaning.

"She'll be all of a muss-up at it."

Ma's smile broadened.

"What's makin' you laff, Ma?" the old man asked.

"Jest nuthin'. I was figgerin' if the gal could--if we could git her reply
before spring opens."

"Seems likely--if the boat don't sink."

Ma put the end of her pen in her mouth and eyed her man. Rube scratched
his head and smoked hard. Neither spoke. At last the woman jerked out an
impatient inquiry.

"Well?" she exclaimed.

Rube removed his pipe from his lips with great deliberation and eased
himself in his chair.

"You've located the name of the farm on top, an' the State, an' the date?"
he inquired, by way of gaining time.

"Guess I ain't daft, Rube."

"No." The man spoke as though his answer were the result of deliberate
thought. Then he cleared his throat, took a long final pull at his pipe,
removed it from his mouth, held it poised in the manner of one who has
something of importance to say, and sat bolt upright. "Then I guess we ken
git right on." And having thus clearly marked their course he sat back and
complacently surveyed his wife.

But the brilliancy of his suggestion was lost on Ma, and she urged him
further.

"Well?"

"Wal--I'd jest say, 'Honored Lady,'" he suggested doubtfully.

"Mussy on the man, we're writin' to Rosebud!" exclaimed the old woman.

"Sure." Rube nod