and said he guessed an only daughter could be a bit extravagant, and to
just go ahead. So I smiled again shyly and demurely and went ahead.
And when not so much as a bit of ribbon or a chiffon veil could be
squeezed in anywhere I shut those trunks and sat on them and swung my
feet and bet Dad that I wouldn't marry that boy after all. And he was
so sure that he was rid of me at last and that he could start out on
his next trip blissfully free and alone that he bet me Jim Gray's
Gunshot that I'd be married in six months to the gentleman in question.
Of course it was a disgraceful business, the two of us betting on a
thing like that, but somehow we never thought of that, we were so busy
teasing each other. Well, of course Dad lost. I refused that nice
chap three times in one week. And here I am, heart-free still, with
three trunks of booty and the finest, blackest, and swiftest little
horse in the county--mine. This has certainly been a profitable trip!
Poor Dad, he's so delightfully old-fashioned. He does so believe in
early marriages and husbands and wedding veils. And he thinks that
twenty-three is absolutely a grewsome age. Poor Dad! And he says too
that for what I have done to him in this trunk deal I shall be duly
punished. That the good Lord who looks after the fathers of willful,
old-maidish daughters will see to that. Why, he has gone so far as to
say that he wouldn't be surprised if I wound up by marrying some weird
country minister. Fancy that! Why, that from father is almost a
curse. And he's worried sick about my riding Gunshot. But I shall
manage. So expect to see me dash up to your gate in great style any
day now."

"Nanny," warned Grandma, "I don't trust that horse either. You'd
better be mighty careful. That horse isn't mean but it's young and
scary."