I can now discern with this clear eye.
That my weak hand may equal my firm faith,
And my life practise more than my tongue saith.
That my low conduct may not show,
Nor my relenting lines,
That I thy purpose did not know
Or over-rated thy designs."

How could any one, and that a grown man and a poet, have so exactly
voiced the thoughts of a young girl on a far-off Texas ranch?

" . . . . I ask thee for no meaner pelf
Than that I may not disappoint myself."

That was just it--she had disappointed herself, grievously, bitterly.
So absorbed was she that she did not hear a foot-fall, nor did she
look up until Uncle Cliff exclaimed, "All alone, Honey? That doesn't
often happen these days!" His cheerful voice expressed no regret for
the absence of the others.

She looked up, and then quickly down again; but not soon enough for
the traces of tears to escape his watchful eye.

"What's up, Blue Bonnet?" he asked anxiously. He was on the rug beside
her now, and with a hand under her quivering chin tilted her face and
scanned it closely.

She winked fast for a moment. "Uncle Cliff, do you find it terribly
hard to be good?"

"Thundering hard, Honey." He thought whimsically that it was lucky no
one else had heard that question. "So hard that my success at it
hasn't been remarkable!"

"Oh, Uncle, it has!" she declared. "And it always seems so easy for
you to 'live as you ride--straight and true.' I was so proud last
winter when you said I'd proved I was an Ashe, clear through. But I
reckon you spoke too soon. I've been showing what Alec calls 'a yellow
streak.'"

"Don't you say that of my girl! I'll wager our best short-horn against
a prairie-dog that if you've a yellow streak it's pure gold!" He
caressed the brown head that nestled against his arm.

She wriggled away and faced him firmly. "You may as well know the
worst, Uncle Cliff. It was my fault that Kitty was hurt yesterday.
It's my fault Grandmother is ill and Debby's feet hurt. I was mean
and thoughtless and selfish and--"

He put his hand over her mouth. "Look here, no Ashe is going to hear
one of his race called all those ugly names. Remember whom you're
talking to! Things always seem to come in bunches, Honey, but you have
to dispose of them one at a time. Why, it's hardly a year since a girl
about your size--a bit younger she was, but she had blue eyes just
like yours,--was saying she r