"Well, I'm going to tell you, anyhow!" cried Bowles impulsively. "I've got an aunt back East, and she's an awfully nice woman—does everything for me—but I have to do what she says. She doesn't make me do it, you know—she just expects me to do it! Maybe you never had any one like that? Well, I've always tried to do what she liked—she's my father's sister, you know—but this spring I just had to run away."
"Too much fer you, eh?" commented Brigham, grinning.
"No, it wasn't that so much, but she—she told me I ought to get married!"
"Well, what's the matter?" inquired Brigham, his grin wreathing back to his ears. "What's the matter with that?"
Bowles blushed and blinked with embarrassment.
"Well, the fact is, Brigham," he said, "she picked out the girl herself!"
"No! Never asked you, nor nothin'? What did the girl say?"
"Oh, Christabel? Why, she never knew, of course. I came out West immediately."
A puzzled look came over Brigham's honest face.
"Say, lemme git the straight of this," he said. "I'm a kind of Mormon myself, you know, and these fellers are always throwin' it into me about the way Mormons marry off their gals—did yore aunt make some trade with her folks?"