ght in," Billy told her, and
half meant it.

"A thorough understanding of the subject is indispensable--when you
have a stepmother--a _young_ stepmother. You've met her, haven't you?"

"No," said Billy. He did not want to talk about her stepmother, but he
hated to tell her so. "Er--yes, I believe I did see her once, come to
think of it," he added honestly when memory prompted him.

Miss Bridger laughed, stopped, and laughed again. "How Mama Joy would
_hate_ you if she knew that!" she exclaimed relishfully.

"Why?"

"Oh, you wait! If ever I tell her that you--that _anybody_ ever met
her and then forgot! Why, she knows the color of your hair and eyes,
and she knows the pattern of that horsehair hat-band and the size of
your boots--she _admires_ a man whose feet haven't two or three inches
for every foot of his height--she says you wear fives, and you don't
lack much of being six feet tall, and--"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" protested Billy, very red and uncomfortable.
"What have I done to yuh that you throw it into me like that? My hands
are up--and they'll stay up if you'll only quit it."

Miss Bridger looked at him sidelong and laughed to herself. "That's to
pay you for forgetting that you ever met Mama Joy," she asserted. "I
shouldn't be surprised if next week you'll have forgotten that you
ever met _me_. And if you do, after that chicken stew--"

"You're a josher," said Billy helplessly, not being prepared to say
just all he thought about the possibility of his forgetting her. He
wished that he understood women better, so that he might the better
cope with the vagaries of this one; and so great was his ignorance
that he never dreamed that every man since Adam had wished the same
thing quite as futilely.

"I'm not going to josh now," she promised, with a quick change of
manner. "You haven't--I _know_ you haven't, but I'll give you a chance
to dissemble--you haven't a partner for the dance, have you?"

"No. Have you?" Billy did have the courage to say that, though he
dared not say more.

"Well, I--I could be persuaded," she hinted shamelessly.

"Persuade nothing! Yuh belong to me, and if anybody tries to throw
his loop over your head, why--" Billy looked dangerous; he meant the
Pilgrim.

"Thank you." She seemed relieved, and it was plain she did not read
into his words any meaning beyond the dance, though Billy was secretly
hoping that she would. "Do you know, I think you're perfectly lovely.
You're so--s