"It may be all right, but"—and she shook her head doubtfully.
Meanwhile Bud delightedly made his way to the store. There were a few villagers buying anything from a two-cent stamp to a bag of chicken feed. Boss Holden was not rushed. Afternoon buyers were always leisurely. Now was Bud's opportunity. He entered the store noisily.
"What d'yer think?" he asked, with both hands thrust deep into his pockets.
"Too warm to think, Bud," replied Boss Holden, smiling.
"Not w'en yer correctin' error," returned Bud, with serious importance, looking from one to the other.
"Error? That's some word for you. Bud! What's up now? You're as good as a 'Daily.' Why don't you print yourself black and white?" said Holden, with a laugh.
"Cause the print 'ud stick and news is allus changing. Yer know the talk about the mer—Mormon fellers? Well, every one's twisted. They're alrighty, I tell you."
Mr. Allworth contracted his Methodist brows into a slow frown.
"Who's been deceiving you, my lad? The Mormons themselves maybe? Stay clear of them. They'll do you no good."
"It's not themselves," returned Bud quickly. "It's Mrs. Hadly. She ses they're her friends. They're going ter stay wi' her. So they're alrighty, eh? What yer say ter thet?"