letter in my own
way. You'd best go an' yarn with Seth. An' you needn't say nuthin' o' this
to him. We'll git a quick answer from Rosebud, or I'm ter'ble slow 'bout
some things, like you."

The cloud of responsibility suddenly lifted from the farmer's heavy
features. He smiled his relief at his partner in conspiracy. He knew that
in such a matter as the letter he was as much out of place as one of his
own steers would be. Ma, he was convinced, was one of the cleverest of her
sex, and if Seth and Rosebud were ever to be brought together again she
would do it. So he rose, and, moving round to the back of his wife's
chair, laid his great hand tenderly on her soft, gray hair.

"You git right to it, Ma," he said. "We ain't got no chick of our own.
Ther's jest Seth to foller us, an' if you ken help him out in this thing,
same as you once helped me out, you're doin' a real fine thing. The boy
ain't happy wi'out Rosebud, an' ain't never like to be. You fix it, an'
I'll buy you a noo buggy. Guess I'll go to Seth."

Ma looked up at the gigantic man, and the tender look she gave him belied
the practical brusqueness of her words.

"Don't you git talkin' foolish. Ther' was a time when I'd 'a' liked you to
talk foolish, but you couldn't do it then, you were that slow. Git right
along. I'll fix this letter, an' read it to you when it's done."

Rube passed out of the room, gurgling a deep-throated chuckle, while his
wife went steadily on with the all-important matter in hand.

CHAPTER XXII

ROSEBUD'S ANSWER

It was a dazzling morning nearly five weeks after the dispatching of Ma
Sampson's letter to Rosebud. The heralds of spring, the warm, southern
breezes, which brought trailing flights of geese and wild duck winging
northward, and turned the pallor of the snow to a dirty drab hue, like a
soiled white dress, had already swept across the plains. The sunlight was
fiercely blinding. Even the plainsman is wary at this time of the year,
for the perils of snow-blindness are as real to him as to the
"tenderfoot."

There had been no reply from Rosebud. Two more letters from her reached
the farm, but they had been written before the letter, which Rube helped
to compose, had been received. Since then no word had come from the girl.
Ma was satisfied, and accepted her silence with equanimity, but for
appearances' sake assumed an attitude of complaint. Rube said nothing; he
had no subtlety in these matters. Seth was quite in the