t I, when I'm riding--and loving--and hoping--and maybe he
can't stand it, and if he can't stand it, and rides up close, and stops
his horse and tells me--oh, what I hope he will tell me--why, Daddy,
dear, I _must_ lean over into his arms for just one minute, mustn't I?
You see that, don't you? And maybe after that, everything will be all
right, and we can all be happy ever after. I don't see how we could help
being happy ever after that, Dad!"

And, praying so, on the galloping mare, Sally Madeira came into the main
street of Canaan, and drew rein at last in front of her father's bank.
Madeira saw her at once and hurried out to her.

"I'm going to take a little last ride with Mr. Steering, Dad," she said,
her head as high as a queen's and her voice strong and sweet. "I didn't
want you to think that I was deceiving you. I wanted you to know about
it before I did it." Often there was a good deal of the child in Sally's
straight gaze, and Madeira saw it there now and loved it.

"You do just exactly whatever you want to, Honeyful," he said. "I don't
know--I----" He could not go on at all for a minute, and when he could
go on he said abruptly, "I'm going to see Steering, too, before I quite
bust up with him, Sally." Then he went quickly back to the bank, and the
girl passed on down the street to the post-office, in front of which she
saw Steering's horse at the hitching-rail. She sent a bare-footed boy
inside to post a letter to Elsie Gossamer and to ask Mr. Steering to
come out to her.

While she waited, she could see Steering at the pen-and-ink desk,
loitering there, one arm on the desk, watching the thin stream of
people that went by him to the convex glass-and-pine booth where the
post-office boxes were. The men from the Canaan stores, a lonely drummer
from the hotel, some belated farmers and several Canaan young ladies
passed Steering, the young ladies seeming not to see him, but, in some
subtly feminine way, making it impossible for Steering not to see
them--their glowing young faces, their enormous hats, the way their
gowns didn't fit, the slip-shod carriage of their bodies, all the
differences between them and the only other real western girl he knew.
None of the people went out of the post-office at once, all idling at
the door for a few minutes. From time to time there was quite a little
crush at the door, so that Steering did not see Miss Madeira until her
messenger reached him. Then he ran out to her quickly.