Occasionally Aunt Jane gave a dance at her home. The young folks of the valley came, had a jolly time, and departed, some of them on horseback, some in buckboards, and one or two of the more well-to-do in that small but aggressive vehicle which has since become a universal odor in the nostrils of the world.
Little Jim detested these functions which entailed his best clothes and his best behavior. He did not like girls, and looked down with scorn upon young men who showed any preference for the sex feminine. He made but two exceptions to this hard-baked rule: his Aunt Jane, and her young friend who lived on the neighboring ranch, Dorothy. Little Jim called her Dorry because it sounded like a boy's name. And he liked Dorry because she could ride, and shoot with a twenty-two rifle almost as well as he could. Then, she didn't have a beau, which was the main thing. Once he told her frankly that if she ever got a beau, he--Jimmy--was going to quit.
"Quit what?" asked Dorothy, smiling.
Little Jim did not know just what he was going to quit, but he had imagination.
"Why, quit takin' you out huntin' and campin' and showin' you how to tell deer tracks from goat's tracks--and everything."
"But I have a beau," said Dorothy teasingly.
"Who is he?" demanded Little Jim.
"Promise you won't tell?"
Little Jim hesitated. He did not consider it quite the thing to promise a girl anything. But he was curious. "Uh-huh," he said.
"Jimmy Hastings!" said Dorothy, laughing at his expression.