s."

"Now, Bert," said Ans one day, "I don't wan' to hear you talk in that
slipshod way any longer before Flaxen. You know better; you've had more
chance than I have--be'n to school more. They ain't no excuse for you,
not an ioty. Now, I'm goin' to say to her, 'Never mind how I talk, but
talk like Bert does."

"Oh, say, now, look here, Ans, I can't stand the strain. Suppose she'd
hear me swearin' at ol' Barney or the stove?"

"That's jest it. You ain't goin' to swear," decided Anson; and after
that Bert took the education of the little waif in hand, for he was a
man of good education; his use of dialect and slang sprang mainly from
carelessness.

But all the little fatherly duties and discipline fell to Anson, and
much perplexed he often got. For instance, when he bought her an outfit
of American clothing at the store they were strange to her and to him,
and the situation was decidedly embarrassing when they came to try
them.

"Now, Flaxie, I guess this thing goes on this side before, so's you can
button it. If it went on so, you _couldn't_ reach around to button it,
don't you see? I guess you'd better try it so. An' this thing, I judge,
is a shirt, an' goes on under that other thing, which I reckon is
called a shimmy. Say, Bert, shouldn't you call that a shirt?" holding
up a garment.

"W-e-l-l, yes" (after a close scrutiny). "Yes: I should."

"And this a shimmy?"

"Well, now, you've got me, Ans. It seems to me I've heard the women
folks home talk about shimmies, but they were always kind o' private
about it, so I don't think I can help you out. That little thing goes
underneath, sure enough."

"All right, here goes, Flax; if it should turn out to be hind side
before, no matter."

Then again little Flaxen would want to wear her best dress on
week-days, and Ans was unable to explain. Here again Bert came to the
rescue.

"Git her one dress fer ev'ry day in the week, an' make her wear 'em in
rotation. Hang 'em up an' put a tag on each one--Sunday, Monday, an' so
on."

"Good idea."

And it was done. But the embarrassments of attending upon the child
soon passed away; she quickly grew independent of such help, dressed
herself, and combed her own hair, though Anson enjoyed doing it himself
when he could find time, and she helped out not a little about the
house. She seemed to have forgotten her old life, awakening as she had
from almost deathly torpor into a new home--almost a new world--where a
strange la