articular nature of that big something.
She tried to talk it over with Marthy, but Marthy could not seem to
think beyond the Cove, except that now and then Billy Louise would
suspect that her mind did travel to the desert and Minervy's grave.
Marthy's hair was growing streaked with yellowish gray, though it never
grew less unkempt and dusty looking. Her eyes were harder, if
anything, except when they rested on Billy Louise.

When she was thirteen, Billy Louise rode over with a loaf of bread she
had baked all by herself, and she put this problem to Marthy:

"I've been thinking I'd go ahead and write poetry, Marthy--a whole book
of it with pictures. But I do love to make bread--and people have to
eat bread. Which would you be, Marthy; a poet, or a cook?"

Marthy looked at her a minute, lent her attention briefly to the
question, and gave what she considered good advice.

"You learn how to cook, Billy Louise. Yuh don't want to go and get
notions. Your maw ain't healthy, and your paw likes good grub. Po'try
is all foolishness; there ain't any money in it."

"Walter Scott paid his debts writing poetry," said Billy Louise
argumentatively. She had just read all about Walter Scott in a
magazine which a passing cowboy had given her; perhaps that had
something to do with her new ambition.

"Mebby he did and mebby he didn't. I'd like to see our debts paid off
with po'try. It'd have to be worth a hull lot more 'n what I'd give
for it."

"Oh. Have you got debts too, Marthy?" Billy Louise at thirteen was
still ready with sympathy. "Daddy's got lots and piles of 'em. He
bought some cattle and now he talks to mommie all the time about debts.
Mommie wants me to go to Boise to school, next winter, to Aunt Sarah's.
And daddy says there's debts to pay. I didn't know you had any,
Marthy."

"Well, I have got. We bought some cattle, too--and they ain't done 's
well 's they might. If I had a man that was any good on earth, I could
put up more hay. But I can't git nothing outa Jase but whines. Your
paw oughta send you to school, Billy Louise, even if he has got debts.
I'd 'a' sent--"

She stopped there, but Billy Louise knew how she finished the sentence
mentally. She would have sent Minervy to school.

"Your paw ain't got any right to keep you outa school," Marthy went on
aggressively. "Debts er no debts, he'd see 't you got schoolin'--if he
was the right kinda man."

"Daddy is the right kinda man. He ain't l