Dora was more than ever convinced that Mary thought of the cowboy merely as the Big Brother, which so frequently she called him. However, before entirely giving up, she asked, “If you have little boys, what will you name them?”
Mary laughed, not at all suspecting her friend’s real reason for all the questioning. “That’s an easy one to answer,” she said artlessly. “The oldest, of course, will be named after Dad. The other two—if—why, Dick and Jerry will do as well as any, and yet,” she paused and seemed to think a bit, then merrily she said, “Dora, let’s postpone all this christening for ten years at least. The fond father of the brood may want to have a finger in the pie.”
Dora thought, “Mary’s voice sounds amused. Maybe she’s wise to my scheming. I’d better soft pedal it, if I’m ever going to get at the truth.”
Aloud she said with elaborate indifference—yawning to add to the effect, “Oh, well, it really doesn’t matter. After all I had quite forgotten our agreement to both remain old maids, me to teach school and you to keep house for me.” Again she yawned, saying sleepily, “Good night and pleasant dreams.”
It was daybreak when the girls woke up. Already there were sounds of activity within and without. Barnyard fowls were clamoring, each in its own way, for the breakfast which Dick was carrying to them.
Jerry—in the cow corral—was milking under difficulties as a long-legged calf was noisily demanding a share.
From the kitchen came faintly the clatter of dishes, a sizzling sound and a most appetizing fragrance of coffee, bacon and frying potatoes.
“Let’s get up and surprise the boys,” Mary whispered.
This they did and were in time to help pleased Mrs. Newcomb carry in the hot viands.
Jerry and Dick welcomed them with delighted grins and Mr. Newcomb gave them each a fatherly pat as he passed.