“It can’t be too long to suit me,” she retorted.
“I wish it was spring right now,” sighed Bill.
Gloss raised her head and looked inquiringly at the two.
“Ask Mary Ann,” said Paisley solemnly.
“Tell Gloss yourself, if you want to, baby,” flashed Mary Ann, hiding her face.
“Mary Ann is to be Mrs. William Paisley next spring,” grinned Bill.
Gloss drew the blushing head over to her bosom.
“I’m glad,” she said simply.
The babies were being bundled up and there was the commotion that comes of lingering leave-taking among good neighbors. It had been settled among the Bushwhackers as to what they should do when the inevitable should happen. Now they were going to their separate homes, each satisfied and determined. They would have been glad, even, had not the gloom of Injun Noah’s death still hung across their simple hearts. Just as Declute reached for the latch the door opened and Daft Davie sprang into the room, a spray of powdery snow following him as though he had been shot down from the scurrying clouds. He stood looking about him.
“Right here, Davie,” cried Boy. “What is it, lad?”