"I reckon he'd ought to give this here Wilkins a better job and present him with a purse, hey?" Lafe sneered. "I reckon they'd ought to make him boss of all them soldiers. Then him and Mary Lou could get married and everything would be lovely. Yes, I reckon that's the nicest way to treat a deserter."
"Why, Lafe," Hetty remonstrated, "don't you see? He just left to make enough money to marry Mary Lou. He did it all for her. Wasn't it grand of him?"
The boss threw up his hands and walked off to the spring, where he could smoke and clear his brain of the cobwebs of sentiment. He was not to be allowed to dismiss the matter so lightly. When she had him in the house, Hetty pounced upon him again. Hardly had he taken a chair, than she came to sit on his knee and began stroking his hair. Lafe would not have had a citizen of Badger see this ridiculous performance for all the wealth stored in the depths of the mountains, but he nevertheless submitted to it with a sort of reluctant enjoyment.
"Mary Lou and I," said Hetty, "we thought that if you would speak to Mr. Horne, he would speak to that soldier man."
"Would he, now? And what has ol' Horne got to say to that general, or whatever he is?"
"Why, you baby, don't you see? Mr. Horne and that man who runs the fort are friends. Now, Mary Lou and I thought that if Mr. Horne would only say something nice about Wilkins, he'd let him go. Don't you think he would?"
"Oh, sure. He'd pin a medal on that feller. It's like he'd put it on with a sword, though, to make it stick."
"Oh, Lafe," Hetty said, almost in tears.
Lafe groaned and gave up the fight. It would be utterly useless, he told her—who ever heard of such a proposition made to serious men? But, of course, if Hetty wanted her husband to make an idiot of himself, he supposed he would have to do so.
"It won't be much trouble," Hetty coaxed. She added: "There, I knew my boy would help me."