"Did a lot of gophers come in while you's a-planting?" asked the biggest brother, more kindly.
"Oh, a lot," answered the little girl.
"Did you sling clods at 'em?" demanded the eldest brother, again pounding the musket into the dirt.
"Nearly slung my arm off," answered the little girl.
The eldest brother grunted incredulously.
"It's mighty funny," he said, "that the gophers liked your planting better 'n anybody else's."
The little girl did not answer. Her forehead was puckered painfully as, gripping her hat, she stood busily curling and uncurling her toes in the dirt. Her lashes were fluttering as if she awaited a blow.
"I'll just ask you one thing," went on the eldest brother; "what's to-morrow?"
The little girl started as if the blow had fallen, and stammered her answer.
"My—my—birfday," she said.