women folks never _will_ work the water out, an'
it's al'ays puffy an' white. Town people don't want sech truck. It
has to be firm and yaller. Look what the Beeson gals fetch once a
week. I gladly pay 'em fifteen fer it." He uncovered a pile of firm
golden balls and struck them with his paddle. "Any woman can make sech
butter ef they won't feed the cows cotton-seed an' will take 'nough
trouble."

When the man had joined the group outside, Worthy came from behind the
counter into the pen, wiping his hands on a sheet of brown paper.

"I don't think thar's a thing fer any o' yore folks, Miss Hettie," he
said to the girl, "but I'll look jest to satisfy you." He took a
bundle of letters from a pigeon-hole and ran them hurriedly through his
hands. "Not a thing," he concluded, putting the letters back; "jest as
I thought."

She paused for a moment as if about to ask a question. She put a thin
hand on the cover of a sugar-barrel, and looked at him timidly from the
depths of her bonnet as he came out of the pen, but she said nothing.
As she started to go, her skirt caught on a sliver of the barrel, and,
as she stooped to unfasten it, she almost fell forward. But she
recovered herself and went out of the door towards the hitching-rack in
front, paused, and looked back at the road over which she had come.

"Don't seem to know exactly whar she _does_ want to go," remarked Jim
Hunter, breaking the silence which had followed her departure from the
store. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Oz Fergerson's daughter Hettie," replied Worthy, leaning against the
door-jamb. "She don't look overly well; I reckon that's why she quit
workin' at the hotel. She's dyin' to git a letter from some'rs; she
comes reg'lar every day an' goes away powerfully disappointed."

"Never seed her before as I know of," said Longfield, handing Worthy
his basket of eggs.

The girl suddenly turned down the sidewalk. She passed Mrs. Webb's
cottage and the bar and went into the hotel. Mrs. Floyd met her at the
door.

"Mis' Floyd, I want to see Harriet," she said.

"She's up-stairs," replied Mrs. Floyd. "I'll call her; but you'd
better go in to the fire."

The girl shook her head and muttered something Mrs. Floyd could not
understand, so she left her in the hall.

Mrs. Floyd found Harriet in her room. "Hettie Fergerson is down-stairs
and wants to see you," she said. "She still acts very strange. I
asked her to go into the parlor, but she wouldn