"Wall, Ah cain't fergit that pooty gal in a hurry, even when Sary heaves in sight wid a heaped plate of puddin' fer me. Ah s'pose Ah'll hev to let her marry me, er git out to onct. Sence yuh've ben talkin', Ah have a sort of weakenin' fer her capable ways, and shore ez shootin', she'll grab the first chanst Ah gives her to know the wust, because this is leap-year."
John shouted with laughter again, and Tom Latimer turned back his horse to ask what the joke was about.
"Nothing that concerns little boys like you, Tom," laughed John, as he winked at his friend.
"But I feel sure I can be of help to Jeb as well as to you, John," insisted Tom.
"No, Mis'r Tom. It's all over," sighed Jeb, in a funereal tone. "Ah've made up mah mind to take the med'cine, er beat it!"
With that, Jeb spurred his horse on and joined his master, leaving John to merely hint at the great trouble that almost disrupted the household at Pebbly Pit. "Now, thank Heavens, I have saved the ranch from ruin, and united two hearts that ought to beat as one, hereafter!"
Tom laughed. "I'm glad you confessed to your profession. I'll be wary of your match-making, in the future."
"But you have to find matches before you can make them," laughed John.
"You are so blind that you only see one pretty girl at Pebbly Pit, whereas there are four!" exclaimed Tom, smilingly.
"Four! Anne Stewart is one, and Miss Maynard may consider herself lovely enough for a match—I don't. But mother and Sary will never consent to your including them in your match-making."