nt smile upon her lips. "Yes, sir, stuff ter
make a dress--a party dress, the finest kind o' goods."

Ajax stared helplessly at me. The mystery that encompassed this woman
was positively indecent.

"An' shoes," she concluded. "I bought me a pair, hand sewn, with
French tips--very dressy."

Later, inspired by tobacco, we agreed that the problem was solved. Our
head _vaquero_, Uncle Jake, gaunt as a coyote at Christmas, and
quite as hungry, had fallen a victim to Gloriana's flesh-pots. He
lived in an old _adobe_ near the big corral, boarded himself and
a couple of Mexicans upon _tortillas_, _frijoles_ and bacon,
and was famous throughout the countryside as a confirmed bachelor and
woman hater. We entertained a high regard for this veteran, because he
seldom got drunk, and always drove cattle _slowly_. To him the
sly Gloriana served Anglo-Saxon viands: pies, "jell'" (compounded
according to a famous Wisconsin recipe), and hot biscuit, light as the
laughter of children! What misogynist can withstand such arts? I
remembered that at the fall calf-branding Uncle Jake had expressed his
approval of our _cordon bleu_ in no measured terms.

"You've noted," he said, "that a greaser jest naterally hates ter
handle mares. He rides a horse, an' he's right. The best o' mares will
kick. Now, Glory Anne can't help bein' a woman, but I swear she's bin
mighty well broke. She works right up into the collar--quiet an'
steady, an' keeps her tongue, whar it belongs, shet up in her mouth.
I've seen a sight o' wimmen I thot less of than Glory Anne."

I repeated these words to Ajax. He admitted their significance, in
connection with bonnets and furbelows, and we both went to bed with a
sound of marriage-bells in our ears. We slept soundly, convinced that
neither Gloriana nor Uncle Jake would leave our service, and at
breakfast the next morning discoursed at length upon the subject of
wedding presents.

"What would you suggest, Gloriana," said Ajax, "as suitable for a
middle-aged bridegroom?"

She considered the question thoughtfully, a delightful smile upon her
lips.

"Ther's nothin' more interestin' than marryin', excep' mebbee the
courtin'," she replied softly, "an' a gift is, so ter speak, a message
o' love an' tenderness from one human heart t' another. With poor
folks, who ain't experts in the use o' words, a gift means more 'n
tongue kin tell. I'm sot myself on makin' things. Every stitch I put
into a piece o' fancy work fer--a f