"I'd like to have her come over to see the twins," said Curly to his spouse, "but I reckon like enough she's sore."
"I'd be mighty glad to have a good square talk with some woman from the States," rejoined the Littlest Girl, hesitatingly. "I'd sort of like to know what folks is wearin' back there now. Besides that—"
"Besides what?"
"I don't more'n half believe her and Dan Anderson is gettin' along very well, someway."
"That so? Well, I don't see how they can, the way he throwed the spurs into her pa the other night."
"He just worships the ground that girl walks on."
"You oughtn't to talk so much. That ain't our business—but how do you know?"
"Well, because I do know," responded the Littlest Girl, warmly. "Don't you suppose I can see? I've talked with Dan every time he come up here to buy a pie—talked about that girl. He buys more pies now than he used to. I reckon I know."
"That may all be. Question is, how's she a-feelin' toward him these days?"
"Curly," after a little silence, "I'm going to put on my bonnet and go over there and see that girl. She's all alone. I'll take her a pie. I always did think she was nice."