She leaned forward.
"Bud!" she said reprovingly. "He doesn't!"
"He does!" declared Bud, with a vehemence that equaled the lady's. "He cusses — lots. He cusses the sorrel horse; he cusses the saddle — when he puts it on!"
"Bud," said the lady, her voice very low and solemn — so that Bud scented wickedness in the air — "Bud," she repeated slowly; "your dad doesn't cuss in your presence? That is — he doesn't cuss where you can hear him?"
"My dad's smart — an' he cusses every day!" declared Bud. "He cussed this mornin' before he went away. I heard him. He put me on the gatepost an' cussed the sorrel horse, an' the gate, an' the basin. I'll tell you what he said," Bud offered generously; "he said "
"Sh!" cautioned the lady; "don't say it!"
"Then I won't!" said Bud, with a quick look at her.
For a time Bud was very quiet. He was thinking, and his thoughts were vague and far, and yet they took coherent shape after a while. He dimly felt that if swearing always brought a lovely lady to remonstrate with one, why, there was some virtue in swearing, after all. And he wondered if that was why Rand swore — to bring the lady to his side.
Bud became aware that the lady had come very close to him. He felt her hand on his head, and her breath stirring his hair. And then her cheek was snuggled against his.
And then came her voice, low and soft — like a whispering breeze:
"Bud," it said; "tell me what dad said about the basin."
"Sure!" he vowed, reckless with the intoxication of her presence; "I'll tell you everything he said anything about! I'll tell you—"
"Just about the basin, Bud!"
"He said—" and Bud paused, for he wanted to be certain the lady wished him to repeat the words.
"Yes?" she whispered, encouragingly.
"He said: 'Damn the basin! And damn Larry Redfern! Don't the damn fool know Miss Seddon is comin' this mornin'?'"
The lady emitted a pleased gasp, which sounded very much like a laugh. And, gathering courage, Bud searched his memory for more profanity.
"Bud!" The lady's voice broke in on his thoughts.
"Yes."
"Your dad didn't always cuss?"
"No."
"When did you hear him, first — when did he begin to swear?" Her cheek was pressed tightly to his. "Think hard, Bud!" she encouraged.
"He cussed one night, an' you come the next day."
"What did he cuss, Bud?"
"The sorrel horse."
"Bud?"
"Yes."
"Did he keep on cussing after — after I came?"
"Yes — he cusses all the time."
The lady hid her head on Bud's shoulder, and her body moved with convulsive motions singularly like those which had agitated his father's shoulders on the night Bud had heard him cuss the first time.
But presently she raised her head, and Bud observed that her face was radiant, and that her eyes were shining with a soft brilliance.
"Bud," she said; "promise me that you will never, never cuss again! For," she added, smiling, "your dad is going to promise me the same thing!"
"Dad will be smart, then?"
"Oh!" she laughed. "Dad is smart, now — almost too smart!"
And then she put him down and told him to "run" in to Aunt Betsey. When he vanished through the doorway she descended the steps and walked to a corner of the pasture fence, where she stood for a long time with a glow in her eyes that would have caused Bud to wonder much —had he been there to see it.
It was not very many minutes later that Eleanor heard a sound behind her. She turned, to see Rand, on Midnight, within a dozen feet of her. There was a pleased grin on Rand's face — and Midnight looked moist — as though he had run far and fast.
The girl tried hard to keep the leap out of her voice; but she knew he detected it, for she saw his eyes widen.
"Why," she said. "Bud told me you had gone to the basin, to meet Larry Redfern!"
"I met him comin' here," he grinned. "Larry's accom-modatin'. Almost too accommodatin'," he added, the grin fading and a frown succeeding it. "For you see, ma'am; I lit out early, intendin' to be away so's I wouldn't be interferon' with Bud's education."
"How considerate you are!" she said, in a voice that made him look intently at her. "You don't mean to tell me that you deliberately left Bud to me?"
"I thought you could take care of him."
"So I can. And so you wanted to go to the basin?"
Again he looked intently at her — and this time he saw the guile in her eyes. His face reddened.
"Well, I don't reckon I wanted to go awful bad. It was thinkin' you'd have a hard time with Bud that sent me. But now that I'm back I'd like it mighty well if you'd go ridin' with me."
"And neglect Bud?"
"There's Aunt Betsey."
"And not do anything with his education today?"
"Shucks! I expect he ain't in a powerful hurry to be educated, ma'am — no boy is."
"Well," she said, noting his earnestness; "I shall go with you — this time."
She got on Silver, and together they rode over the shallow water of the river toward the timber.
And it was not until they reached the fallen log — where Lefty Morgan had seen them — that Miss Seddon again referred to Bud; though they had talked gaily on indifferent subjects during the ride.
Rand had taken her to a section of the timber which she never had visited — the northern section, where a big tableland behind them frowned above the tree tops — and Miss Seddon insisted on exploring the place.
A fallen log—the trunk of a mighty giant which had yielded to the ravages of age; its branches and limbs stripped of their green foliage — reminded Miss Seddon of the spot where Rand had killed the wolf upon a day that was still vivid in her recollection.
A malicious impulse seized the girl as she walked to the log and seated herself upon it — Rand standing at a little distance, watching her.
"Swearing is a terrible habit — isn't it?" she remarked calmly.
"It sure ain't polite," returned Rand.
"But there are worse habits."
"I reckon."
"Lying,
