Ford Emmit laughed good-naturedly.
"All right, wife, so long as you don't ask me to give up my pipe, I'll help her through. You don't know the world much. There's not many women like you that come from the East. They're well trained—you never can tell what they're thinking on."
"You mean that there are no good women in the East?"
"Heck, no! But there's no way of sifting them and knowing them. The tares grow with the wheat, and get tangled mightily sometimes. Here, you wives, are mostly same grain, and fairly good at that," he said, taking his wife's hand in his big, brawny one, for an affectionate squeeze.
"We all think that our own is the best, Ford!" his wife answered, with a pleased smile. "But it is not for us to set judgment on the next one."
*****
That night, when all had retired, Betty made her way to her mother's bed-room.
Mrs. Emmit was almost asleep, when she saw the little night-gowned figure with its loose hair and bare little feet, approach.
"Why Betty, what brought you here? You should be asleep in bed."
"But mamma, dear, I can't sleep, until you promise me one thing!"