urchase, still longed to return to the shelter of the love
which these rough frontier-folk so surely lavished upon her.

"But, my dear," she added, as a warning proviso, and with a touch of
worldliness which her own life in England had made almost part of her
nature, "though Mrs. Sampson is so deliciously simple and good, and Mr.
Sampson is such an exquisite rough diamond, this Seth, whose trouble has
brought us out here, with such undignified haste, is not the man to make
the fuss about that you have been doing all the journey. He's a fine man,
or will be when he recovers from his illness, I have no doubt; but, after
all, I feel it my duty by your dead father to warn you that I think you
are much too concerned about him for a girl in your position."

"What on earth do you mean, auntie?" Rosebud exclaimed, pausing in the
process of brushing out her obstinately curling hair. "What position have
I but that which these dear people have helped me to--that Seth, himself,
has made for me? I owe all I have, or am at this moment, to Seth. He saved
me from a fate too terrible to contemplate. He has saved my life, not
once, but half a dozen times; he found me my father's fortune, or the
fortune which father has left for me when I marry. You are more unkind
than ever I thought you could be. You wait, auntie, you may yet learn
to--to appreciate Seth as I do. You see I know--you don't. You're good,
and wise, and all that; but you don't know--Seth."

"And it's very evident that you think you do, dear," Mrs. Rickards said,
wearily rolling over and snuggling down amidst the snowy sheets of the
soft feather-bed.

"There is no question of thinking," Rosebud smiled mischievously into the
looking-glass in the direction of her relative. "And if Seth were to ask
me I would marry him to-morrow--there. Yes, and I'd make him get a special
license to avoid unnecessary delay."

Of a sudden Mrs. Rickards started up in bed. For one moment she severely
eyed the girl's laughing face. Then her anger died out, and she dropped
back on the pillow.

"For the moment I thought you meant it," she said.

"And so I do," was the girl's swift retort. "But there," as a horrified
exclamation came from the bed, "he won't ask me, auntie," the girl went
on, with a dash of angry impatience in her voice, "so you needn't worry.
Seth has a sense of honor which I call quixotic, and one that might
reasonably shame the impecunious fortune-hunters I've met since I have