"Is it, momma?" she cried. "Where? How? Oh, you dear old—old goose. If I was a princess with all the world mine, and I gave half of it to Frank, I shouldn't be giving him any more than—that stew. The best we've got is Frank's, and we sure can't do more. And," she added tenderly, "I guess Frank wouldn't want more." Then she smiled slyly. "Frank would rather have one of your stews here than oysters on the half shell in any other house."
"House? House, my dear? Call this hog pen a—house?" cried Pleasant, a flush of shame dyeing her plump cheeks.
"It's a palace—to Frank and me—when we're eating your stew in it. Yes, momma, and the meal's a banquet. Oh, don't you see, dear? We're just two silly folks up to our eyes in love with each other, and—and nothing matters. Listen, momma. Frank's getting his money right away. He's located his farm, and he's going to buy it in a week or two. We're going to get married, and—and we're going to move to the new farm just as soon as we've harvested our crops here—all of us. You, too. It's a swell house, just what you like. And we're going to have 'hands' to work for us, and Frank's fairy godmother looking on and helping us to be as happy as happy. Oh, momma, we won't grumble a thing. Just let's remember that we've got to do our best in whatever lot we find ourselves."
Pleasant Raysun could never resist her daughter's bright hope for long. The girl never failed to put fresh heart into her. Like all weak natures, she needed the constant support of a heart stronger than her own. Phyllis understood this, and the support was never begrudged, never withheld.
Nor was the girl's declaration lacking in confirmation when Frank appeared. He had lost the last vestige of any outward signs of the shame he believed attached to him through his birth. Here again it was Phyllis who had dispelled the ugly clouds which had threatened to envelop and stifle him.
Now, as he came, he sniffed the air pervading the kitchen with appreciation, and Phyllis smiled across at her mother.
"I didn't know I was hungry until now," he declared. "It surely was a bright thought of mine letting you two know ahead I was coming, Phyl. I bet five dollars it's a jackrabbit stew. Any takers?"
He looked from one to the other with his happy, open face, all smiles. Then, as Phyllis shook her head, he pretended disappointment.
"No luck," he said, with an absurd air of dejection.
The girl admonished him in the lightest spirit of raillery.