Dallas leaned down and touched her lips to the other's hair. "Baby sister, what did you expect him to do? Hold up a man with one hand and—and reach out for a present with the other?"
Marylyn put away the box. "Anyway, he don't like me."
"Like you? Why, he couldn't help it. There isn't a sweeter, prettier girl on the prairies than my little house-keeper."
"He called me the prairie princess," declared Marylyn, but with lingering doubt.
"Now, that shows," said the elder girl. "Don't you worry another second. When he comes again, you'll see."
So Dallas soothed and comforted her until she fell asleep, when she lifted her to her father's bed and covered her carefully. Then she drew aside a swinging blanket to let the firelight shine through—and saw that there were still tears on her sister's face.