"That’s just what I used to think, marm, of all critters before I enjoyed
that degree of friendliness that I’m now proud to own. Take Jerry now,
that old white horse—why, me and him is just like brothers. When I have to
leave the kid to his lonesome infant reflections and go off to chop wood,
I just call Jerry in, and he assoomes the responsibility of nurse like he
was going to draw wages for it."

"I reckon there’s faults on both sides," said the fat lady, impartially.
"No natural woman would leave her baby to a horse to mind while she went
off dancing. And no natural man would fill his house full of critters, and
them with highfalutin names. Take my advice, turn ’em out."

Mary did not wait to hear the continuation of the fat lady’s advice. She
went out on the desert to have one last look at the west. The sun had
taken his plunge for the night, leaving his royal raiment of crimson and
gold strewn above the mountain-tops.

Her sunset reflections were presently interrupted by the fat lady, who
proposed that they should walk till Mr. Dax had tidied up his house,
observing, with logic, that it did not devolve on them to clean the place,
since they were paying for supper and lodging. They had gone but a little
way when sudden apprehension caused the fat lady to grasp Mary’s arm. Miss
Carmichael turned, expecting mountain-lions, rattlesnakes, or
stage-robbers, but none of these casualties had come to pass.

"Land sakes! Here we be parading round the prairie, and I never found out
how that man cooked his coffee."

"What difference does it make, if we can drink it?"