re is danger of the bloodthirsty father
eating them when they are tiny and helpless. And if perchance a male
finds the cave of his mate and her tiny young and enters it to do
mischief, then there is no recorded instance I know of in which the
female, fighting in defense of her young, has not been 'more deadly than
the male.' And that is the origin of the much-discussed line concerning
the female of the species, and it holds good fairly well down the line
of the wild. It's even true among such tiny things as guinea pigs and
canary birds. There is a mother element in the heart of every girl.
Daddy used to say that half the women in the world married the men they
did because they wanted to mother them. You can't tell what is in a
woman's heart by looking at her. You must bring her face to face with an
emergency before you can say what she'll do, but I would be perfectly
willing to stake my life on this: There is scarcely a girl you know who
would see you getting the worst of a fight, say with Oka Sayye, or
someone who meant to kill you or injure you, who would not pick up the
first weapon she could lay her hands on, whether it was an axe or a
stick or a stone, and go to your defense, and if she had nothing else to
fight with, I have heard of women who put up rather a tidy battle with
their claws. Sounds primitive, doesn't it?"

"It sounds true," said Donald reflectively. "I see, young lady, where
one is going to have to measure his words and think before he talks to
you."

"Pretty thought!" said Linda lightly. "We'll have a great time if you
must stop to consider every word before you say it."

"Well, anyway," said Donald, "when are we going to have that fight which
was the purpose of our coming together?"

"Why, we're not ever going to have it," answered Linda. "I have got
nothing in this world to fight with you about since you're doing
your level best to beat Oka Sayye. I have watched your head above the
remainder of your class for three years and wanted to fight with you on
that point."

"Now that's a queer thing," said Donald, "because I have watched you for
three years and wanted to fight with you about your drygoods, and now
since I've known you only such a short while, I don't care two whoops
what you wear. It's a matter of perfect indifference to me. You can wear
French heels or baby pumps, or go barefoot. You would still be you."

"Is it a truce?" asked Linda. I

"No, ma'am," said Donald, "it's not a tru