“And you said you'd help me find my one penny,” he reminded Keith, blinking solemnly at him from the chair. “And I want to shake hands wis your big, high pony. I'm going to buy him wis my six pennies. Be'trice said I could.”
Beatrice blushed, and Keith forgot where he was, for a minute, looking at her.
“Come and find my one shiny penny,” Dorman commanded, climbing down. “And I want Be'trice to come. Be'trice can always find things.”
“Beatrice cannot go,” said his grandmother, who didn't much like the way Keith hovered near Beatrice, nor the look in his eyes. “Beatrice is tired.”
“I want Be'trice!” Dorman set up his everyday howl, which started the dogs barking outside. His guardian angel attempted to soothe him, but he would have none of her; he only howled the louder, and kicked.
“There, there, honey, I'll go. Where's your hat?”
“Beatrice, you had better stay in the house; you have done quite enough for one day.” The tone of the mother suggested things.
“It is imperative,” said Beatrice, “for the peace and the well-being of this household, that Dorman find his penny without delay.” When Beatrice adopted that lofty tone her mother was in the habit of saying nothing—and biding her time. Beatrice was so apt, if mere loftiness did not carry the day, to go a step further and flatly refuse to obey. Mrs. Lansell preferred to yield, rather than be openly defied.
So the three went off to find the shiny penny—and in exactly thirty-five minutes they found it. I will not say that they could not have found it sooner, but, at any rate, they didn't, and they reached the house about two minutes behind Dick and Sir Redmond, which did not improve Sir Redmond's temper to speak of.
After that, Keith did not need much urging from Dick to spend the rest of the afternoon at the “Pool” ranch. When he wanted to, Keith could be very nice indeed to people; he went a long way, that afternoon, toward making a friend of Miss Hayes; but Mrs. Lansell, who was one of those women who adhere to the theory of First Impressions, in capitals, continued to regard him as an incipient outlaw, who would, in time and under favorable conditions, reveal his true character, and vindicate her keen insight into human nature. There was one thing which Mrs. Lansell never forgave Keith Cameron, and that was the ruin of her watch, which refused to run while she was in Montana.