She'd ought to weigh about a hunderd and sixty,
for her height, and I'll bet she don't weigh more'n a hunderd and
thirty."
"I wouldn't call that skinny," remarked Courtney.
"She wears these here new-fangled britches when she's on horseback,"
said old Caleb, justifying his observation. "Rides straddle, like
a man. You can't help seeing what kind of--"
"That will do, Pa," broke in his wife. "It's no crime for a woman
to wear pants when she's riding, although I must say I don't think
it's very modest. I never rode any way except side-saddle,--and
neither has Rosabel. I've brought her up--"
"Don't you be too sure of that, Ma," interrupted young Caleb
maliciously.
"I never did it but once, and you know it, Cale Vick," cried Rosabel,
blushing violently.
The subject was abruptly changed by Mr. White.
"Well, I guess I'll be moseyin' along home, Amos. That certainly
did sound like thunder, didn't it? And that tree-toad has stopped
signallin',--that's a sure sign. Like as not I'll get caught in
the rain if I don't,--what say, Lucindy?"
"Do you want an umberell, Steve?"
"I should say not! What do you want me to do? Scare the rain off?
No, sir! Rain's the funniest thing in the world. If it sees you
got an umberell it won't come within a hunderd miles of you. That's
why I got my Sunday clothes on, and my new straw hat. Sometimes
that'll bring rain out of a clear sky,--that an' a Sunday-school
picnic.
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