“I reckon we kin put the new preacher in Kernel Starbottle's room,” said Miss Morvin, the housekeeper. “The kernel's going to-night.”
“Oh,” said the widow in a tone of relief, but whether at the early departure of the gallant colonel or at the successful solution of the problem of lodging the preacher, Miss Morvin could not determine. But she went on tentatively:—
“The kernel was talkin' in the bar room, and kind o' wonderin' why you hadn't got married agin. Said you'd make a stir in Sacramento—but you was jest berried HERE.”
“I suppose he's heard of my husband?” said the widow indifferently.
“Yes—but he said he couldn't PLACE YOU,” returned Miss Morvin.
The widow looked up. “Couldn't place ME?” she repeated.
“Yes—hadn't heard o' MacGlowrie's wife and disremembered your brothers.”
“The colonel doesn't know everybody, even if he is a fighting man,” said Mrs. MacGlowrie with languid scorn.
“That's just what Dick Blair said,” returned Miss Morvin. “And though he's only a doctor, he jest stuck up agin' the kernel, and told that story about your jabbin' that man with your scissors—beautiful; and how you once fought off a bear with a red-hot iron, so that you'd have admired to hear him. He's awfully gone on you!”
The widow took that opportunity to button her cuff.