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"It's
all for your sake. . . . Look at you, Lucy Bostil! A girl of eighteen who
comes of a family! And you riding around and going around as you are now--in a
man's clothes!"
"But, you dear old goose, I can't ride in a woman's skirt," expostulated Lucy.
"Mind you, Auntie, I can RIDE!"
"Lucy, if I live here forever I'd never get reconciled to a Bostil woman in
leather pants. We Bostils were somebody once, back in Missouri."
Bostil laughed. "Yes, an' if I hadn't hit the trail west we'd be starvin' yet.
Jane, you're a sentimental old fool. Let the girl alone an' reconcile yourself
to this wilderness."
Aunt Jane's eyes were wet with tears. Lucy, seeing them, ran to her and hugged
and kissed her.
"Auntie, I will promise--from to-day--to have some dignity. I've been free as
a boy in these rider clothes. As I am now the men never seem to regard me as a
girl. Somehow that's better. I can't explain, but I like it. My dresses are
what have caused all the trouble. I know that. But if I'm grown up--if it's so
tremendous--then I'll wear a dress all the time, except just WHEN I ride.


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