When she stood up straight, however, even the overalls and jumper she wore, and the broken old hat upon her head, could not hide the fact that she was of a graceful figure.
“I beg your pardon,” said Ruth again. “Can you tell me where Miss Peters is?”
“I can tell you where Min Peters is, if you want to know so bad,” drawled the girl, red suffusing her bronzed cheeks and a little flash coming into her big gray eyes.
“That—that must be the person we wish to see.”
“Then see her,” snapped the other ungraciously. “An’ I s’pose you fancy folks think her a sight, sure ’nuff.”
“You mean you are Mr. Peters’ daughter?” Ruth asked, doubtfully.
“I’m Flapjack’s girl,” the other said, biting her remarks off short.
“Oh!” cried Ruth. “Then you can tell us all about it.”
“How it happens that your father is not here at Yucca to meet us?”