Bob Hampton of Placer

The unavoidable exigencies of a choir practice compelled Mr. Wynkoop to

retire early, nor was it yet late when the more intimate family circle

also dissolved, and the two girls discovered themselves alone. Naida

drew down the shades and lit the lamp. Miss Spencer slowly divested

herself of her outer dress, replacing it with a light wrapper, encased

her feet snugly in comfortable slippers, and proceeded to let down her

flossy hair in gleaming waves across her shoulders. Naida's dark eyes

bespoke plainly her admiration, and Miss Spencer shook back her hair

somewhat coquettishly.

"Do you think I look nice?" she questioned, smilingly.

"You bet I do. Your hair is just beautiful, Miss Spencer."

The other permitted the soft strands to slip slowly between her white

fingers. "You should never say 'you bet,' Naida. Such language is not

at all lady-like. I am going to call you Naida, and you must call me

Phoebe. People use their given names almost entirely out here in the

West, don't they?"

"I never have had much training in being a lady," the young girl

explained, reddening, "but I can learn. Yes, I reckon they do mostly

use the first names out here."

"Please don't say 'I reckon,' either; it has such a vulgar sound. What

is his given name?"

"Whose?"

"Why, I was thinking of Mr. Wynkoop."

"Howard; I saw it written in some books he loaned me. But the people

here never address him in that way."

"No, I suppose not, only I thought I should like to know what it was."

There was a considerable pause; then the speaker asked, calmly, "Is he

married?"

"Mr. Wynkoop? Why, of course not; he does n't care for women in that

way at all."

Miss Spencer bound her hair carefully with a bright ribbon. "Maybe he

might, though, some time. All men do."

She sat down in the low rocker, her feet comfortably crossed. "Do you

know, Naida dear, it is simply wonderful to me just to remember what

you have been through, and it was so beautifully romantic--everybody

killed except you and that man, and then he saved your life. It's such

a pity he was so miserable a creature."

"He was n't!" Naida exclaimed, in sudden, indignant passion. "He was

perfectly splendid."

"Aunt Lydia did n't think so. She wrote he was a common gambler,--a

low, rough man."

"Well, he did gamble; nearly everybody does out here. And sometimes I

suppose he had to fight, but he wasn't truly bad."