The old man's note read: We're going along to the Ridge to see that little Irish runt. If you chance back, will you happen along to see the old man. I'll keep her till six.
"It ain't the truth I'm tellin' y': it's ownly what I've heerd."
Meestress Lizzie O'Finnigan stood in the opening of the tent flap, a lonely little face, a lonely little figure in her tawdry rags, a lonely little soul in the great lone Forest, like a little mite lost in the big universe, Eleanor thought. She was telling them about the "Throuble expected at th' moine; an' faather bein' on hand t' take a fist; an' th' gen'leman from Waashin'ton waitin' for the Ranger man t' come back; an' th' goin's on raported in the paphers. Ah, h' waz a baad man, wuz the Ranger, faather said."
"Do you read the paper, little one?" broke in Matthews.
"Nut the print, sor, but I do th' pitchers; an' th' murthers; an' thim's all pitchered out plain so I can read! Faather sez he wun't have his independence proposed upon; if th' don't give him twinty thousan' fur settin' toight here, he'll peach; but about th' mine, th' Ranger man iz expected t' make throuble, an' faather iz all powerful quick with his fist, sor, 'specially when he's in drink; an' he's t' be on hand. It ain't th' truth I'm tellin' y', sor; it's ownly what I've heerd."
"And if you sit tight here for five years, you are going to be wealthy?" asked Eleanor, taking her by the hand and leading her out to the woods.
The unwonted act almost startled the little face. She looked up at Eleanor questioningly. "Y's, mam, waal-thy," she said. "Faather sez when we're waal-thy, he'll be a gen'leman an' Oil be a loidy."
"All you need, to be a lady, or a gentleman is, to be wealthy? Is that it?" asked the old frontiersman laughing.
"Yes, sor," said the child solemnly, "Faather wull shure be a gen'leman."
"Do you like living here?" asked Eleanor.