“Says I: ‘I think he’s got almost as much sense as though he was borned and brought up in Arizona. And he knows a whole lot more than most of our boys does.’ ‘Why,’ says he to me, ‘you’ve got a lot of good sense yourself, ain’t you?’ I guess Mr. Royal had been cracking me up to his father at that.
“Mr. Phelps—the younger, I mean—takes dinner with us most every Sunday; and he treats me just as nice and polite as though I’d been used to having my hair done up and my hands man-cured all my life.”
This letter arrived at the Red Mill on a day when Jennie and Rebecca were there, as well as Helen and her twin. There was more to Min Peters’ long epistle; but as Jennie Stone said:
“That’s enough to show how the wind is blowing. Why, I had no idea that Phelps boy would ever show such good sense as to ‘shine up’ to Min!”
“The dear girl!” sighed Ruth. “She has the making of a fine woman in her. I don’t blame Royal Phelps for liking her.”
“I imagine Edie took back a long tale of woe to her father and that he went out there to ‘look over’ Min more than he did gold prospects,” Rebecca said, tartly. “Of course, she’s awfully uncouth, and Royal Phelps is a gentleman——”
“Thus speaks the oracle!” exclaimed Helen, briskly. “Rebecca believes in putting signs on the young men of our best families who go into such regions: ‘Beware the dog.’”
“Well, he is really nice,” complained Rebecca, who could not easily be cured of snobbishness.
“I hope there are others,” announced Tom, swinging idly in the hammock.