d
to git so fur away they wouldn't ketch up. And we got into bad
country, where there wasn't no water skurcely. We swung too fur north,
and got into the desert back there. And over next them three buttes
little Minervy took sick. We tried to git outa the desert--we headed
over this way. But before we got to Snake river she--died, and I had
to leave 'er buried back there. We come on. I hated the church worse
than ever, and I wanted to git clear away from 'em. Why, Billy Louise,
we camped one night by the Wolverine, right about where your paw's got
his big corral! We didn't stay there, because it was an Injun
camping-ground then, and they wasn't no use getting mixed up in no
fuss, first thing. In them days the Injuns wasn't so peaceable as they
be now. So we come on here and settled in the Cove.

"And so--I like yuh," said Marthy, in a tone that was half defiance,
"because I can't help likin' yuh. You're growin' up sweet and purty,
jest like I wanted my little Minervy to grow up. In some ways you
remind me of her, only she was quieter and didn't take so much notice
of things a young one ain't s'posed to notice. Now I don't want you
askin' no more questions about her, 'cause I ain't going to talk about
it ag'in; and if yuh pester me, I'll send yuh home and tell your maw to
keep yuh there. If you're the nice girl I think yuh be, you'll be good
to Marthy and not talk about--"

Billy Louise opened her eyes still wider, and licked the honey off one
whole corner of the slice without really tasting anything. Marthy's
square, uncompromising chin was actually quivering. Billy Louise was
stricken dumb by the spectacle. She wanted to go and put her arms
around Marthy's neck and kiss her; only Marthy's neck had a hairy mole,
and there was no part of her face which looked in the least degree
kissable. Still, Billy Louise felt herself all hot inside with remorse
and sympathy and affection. Physical contact being impossible because
of her fastidious instincts, and speech upon the subject being so
sternly forbidden, Billy Louise continued to lick honey and stare in
fascinated silence.

"I'll wash the dishes for you, Marthy," she offered irrelevantly at
last, as a supreme sacrifice upon the altar of sympathy. When that
failed to stop the slow procession of tears that was traveling down the
furrows of Marthy's cheeks, she added ingratiatingly: "I'll put six
raisings on the cookie I'm going to make for you."

Where