"Well, then, we'll let Maw suit herself about it. Miss Brunelle will gentle down and get used to her, teeth or no teeth. It's like a horse getting accustomed to a yellow slicker," he went on. "He always stampedes at first. He'll pitch and strike and raise Cain generally—but there always comes a time when that same old yellow slicker feels mighty good spread over his back when he's humped up in a cold rain. We won't say a word, pardner. We'll just go along as if we didn't notice anything, and you'll see how soon Miss Brunelle will learn to love Maw."
"And—and Maw needn't wear her teeth if—if she don't want to," Skookum stipulated earnestly, "unless Lark ketches her w-without 'em."
"That's the idea, exactly," Bud assured him as man to man. "You see, Lark feels sensitive about Maw's teeth, because he took a beeswax impression himself and sent it to a dentist that advertised pretty extensively and wrote that teeth could be made by what Lark called absent treatment. He'd hate like thunder to admit he'd made a fizzle of the job, and Maw wouldn't for the world hurt his feelings by telling him straight out that they don't fit. So there you are, and we'll just have to let them manage the affair themselves, and show Miss Brunelle what we think of Maw, teeth or no teeth."
Skookum nodded acquiescence, heaving a great sigh of relief.
"I was goin' to—to tell Maw what that girl said. But—but I'm glad I never."
"Real men don't repeat things that may cause hard feelings. You remember that, Skookum. If you'd gone tattling that, Maw would have felt badly and cried."
In the moonlight they could see how the boy's big eyes brimmed suddenly.
"Maw does—every time I change my shirt. It's where grandpa quirted me, and—and the marks is there."
"Grandpa—hunh! I'll grandpa that old devil if I ever run across him," Frank Gelle rapped out viciously.
"You leave grandpa alone! I'm waitin' till—till I get big as Bud, and then grandpa's—my meat!"