When he went into the house he saw that Flora had her hair done in a new way that was extremely pretty, and that she had on a soft, white silk shirt-waist with lots of lace zigzagged across—­a waist hitherto kept sacred to dances and other glorious occasions—­and a soft, pink bow pinned in her hair; all these things he mentally connected with the visit of the Pilgrim.  When he turned to see a malicious light in the round, blue eyes of Mama Joy and a spiteful satisfaction in her very dimples, it suddenly occurred to him that he would certainly have something to say to Miss Flora.  It was no comfort to know that all winter the Pilgrim had not been near, because all winter he had been away somewhere—­rumor had it that he spent his winters in Iowa.  Like the birds, he always returned with the spring.

Billy never suspected that Mama Joy read his face and left them purposely together after supper, though he was surprised when she arose from the table and said: 

“Flora, you make Billy help you with the dishes.  I’ve got a headache and I’m going to lie down.”

At any rate, it gave him the opportunity he wanted.

“Are yuh going to let the Pilgrim hang around here this summer?” he demanded in his straight-from-the-shoulder fashion while he was drying the first cup.

“You mean Mr. Walland?  I didn’t know he ever ’hung around’.”  Flora was not meek, and Billy realized that, as he put it mentally, he had his work cut out for him to pull through without a quarrel.

“I mean the Pilgrim.  And I call it hanging around when a fellow keeps running to see a girl that’s got a loop on her already.  I don’t want to lay down the law to yuh, Girlie, but that blamed Siwash has got to keep away from here.  He ain’t fit for yuh to speak to—­and I’d a told yuh before, only I didn’t have any right—­”

“Are you sure you have a right now?” The tone of Flora was sweet and calm and patient.  “I’ll tell you one thing, Charming Billy Boyle, Mr. Walland has never spoken one word against you.  He—­he likes you, and I don’t think it’s nice for you—­”

“Likes me!  Like hell he does!” snorted Billy, not bothering to choose nice words.  “He’d plug me in the back like an Injun if he thought he could get off with it.  I remember him when I hazed him away from line-camp, the morning after you stayed there, he promised faithful to kill me.  Uh course, he won’t, because he’s afraid, but—­I don’t reckon yuh can call it liking—­”

“Why did you ‘haze him away,’ as you call it, Billy?  And kill his dog?  It was a nice dog; I love dogs, and I don’t see how any man—­”

Billy flushed hotly.  “I hazed him away because he insulted you,” he said bluntly, not quite believing in her ignorance.

Flora, her hands buried deep in the soapsuds, looked at him round-eyed.  “I never heard of that before,” she said slowly.  “When, Billy?  And what did he—­say?”