ou won't feel the slightest obligation."

"What's obligation?"

Patiently Bob went through the definition, and Dale again asked:

"Who's the feller he calls Brent?"

"He's staying there, too; trying his wings on a survey for a railroad.
There's going to be a little road through here some day, and he's
looking to it."

"How does he?"

"Heaven pity us," Bob groaned. "I don't know how does he, Dale. Ask him.
Come, let's catch up!"

The Colonel was riding slowly ahead, and from the appearance of his back
Bob knew him to be sulking. Strong and big and fine as he was in both
physique and temperament, his _amour propre_ was an easy thing to wound.
Such hurts, however, were quickly healed by his blessed sense of humor,
and now as he wheeled and watched them, Bob saw that his spirits were
returning.

"In the eyes of babes," the old gentleman began, with a humorous
twitching about his mouth, "we see the mirror of our age--and, Mr.
Dawson, don't ask me what that means for I don't know! But come,
gentlemen, it is quite noon, and a cool house is calling us."

"When the mint is in the toddy, and the chair is in the shade," Bob
hummed, bringing another twinkle of amusement to the old gentleman's
lips.

"I reckon I'll turn off hyar," Dale said, "'n' go on ter school."

"What for?" the Colonel asked. "There's no school today."

"Hain't!" the mountaineer turned in a fury. "Why so?"

"Why so?" Bob answered, not exactly with patience. "For several reasons,
Dale; one being that they don't have school on Saturdays, and another,
quite sufficient in itself, that Miss Jane has a headache."

"What's Satu'day got ter do with hit?" He asked again, unconscious of
the other's growing ill humor.

"You darned boob," Bob laughed, "don't you know that Saturday is a
holiday? It always is! They never have school on that day!"

"D'ye mean they lose a whole day a week?" Dale cried, working himself
into a rage and giving the Colonel that same unpleasant, startled
feeling of witnessing something human out of gear. "That all that time
is jest plumb wasted, when I mought be larnin'? Hain't I come hyar fer
her ter teach me? Hain't I got the right? Hain't hit her business?"

"When Miss Jane doesn't feel like teaching," Bob began, turning a shade
pale and becoming unnaturally calm, "Saturday or no Saturday, she isn't
going to teach; and the Colonel and I'll see anyone in hell first.
Remember that, for it's a right important thing."

"Lord ha