Yet Jimmy knew that his
father had never interfered when a question of discipline arose.
Suddenly Little Jim's face brightened. He marched through the house to
the wash bench, and, unsolicited, washed his hands and face and soaped
his hair, after which he slicked it down carefully, so that there might
be no mistake about his having brushed and combed it. He rather hoped
that Uncle Frank or Aunt Jane would come in just then and find him at
this unaccustomed task. It might help.
Meanwhile, Cheyenne and his brother-in-law had a talk, outside. Dorothy
and Aunt Jane retired to the veranda, talking in low tones. Presently
Little Jim, who could stand the strain no longer,--the jury seemed a
long time at arriving at a verdict,--appeared on the front veranda,
hatless, washed, and his hair fearfully and wonderfully brushed and
combed.
"Why, Jimmy!" exclaimed Dorothy.
Jimmy fidgeted and glanced away bashfully. Presently he stole to his
Aunt Jane's side.
"Am I goin' to get a lickin'?" he queried.
Aunt Jane shook her head, and patted his hand. Entrenched beside Aunt
Jane, Jimmy watched his father and Uncle Frank as they talked by the big
corral.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167