The claim shanty was indeed in some need of repair.  One corner of the roof had fallen in, carrying with it a portion of the sod wall that made the inclosure, and spilling a quantity of earth in the bed customarily occupied by Aunt Lucy when she “resided” here in company with her mistress in their innocent process of acquiring one hundred and sixty acres of land apiece by means of a double dwelling place.  Upon the opposite side, protected by a screen, Franklin caught sight of a corner of the other bed.  There were also upon that side of the shack a little table, a chair, and a dainty looking-glass, with a few other such feminine appurtenances.  Two wash-stands, with basins, went far toward completing the remaining furniture.  It must be admitted that there was dust upon the table and in the basins.  The housekeeper in Mary Ellen apologized as she began to clean them.  “We don’t sleep here very often,” she said.

“And aren’t you afraid?” said Franklin.

“Not now.  We used to be afraid of the coyotes, though, of course, they can’t hurt us.  Once uncle killed a rattlesnake in the shanty.  It had crawled in at the door.  I don’t think, though, that you could get Lucy to sleep here alone overnight for all the land out of doors.”

In order to make the needed repairs to the roof, it was necessary to lay up again a part of the broken wall, then to hoist the fallen rafters into place prior to covering the whole again with a deep layer of earth.  Franklin, standing upon a chair, put his shoulders under the sagging beams and lifted them and their load of disarranged earth up to the proper level on the top of the wall, while Buford built under them with sods.  It was no small weight that he upheld.  As he stood he caught an upturned telltale glance, a look of sheer feminine admiration for strength, but of this he could not be sure, for it passed fleetly as it came.  He saw only the look of unconcern and heard only the conventional word of thanks.

“Now, then, captain,” said Buford, “I reckon we can call this shack as good as new again.  It ought to last out what little time it will be needed.  We might go back to the house now.  Mightily obliged to you, sir, for the help.”

As Mary Ellen stepped into the buggy for the return home her face had lost its pink.  One of the mysterious revulsions of femininity had set in.  Suddenly, it seemed to her, she had caught herself upon the brink of disaster.  It seemed to her that all her will was going, that in spite of herself she was tottering on toward some fascinating thing which meant her harm.  This tall and manly man, she must not yield to this impulse to listen to him!  She must not succumb to this wild temptation to put her head upon a broad shoulder and to let it lie there while she wept and rested.  To her the temptation meant a personal shame.  She resisted it with all her strength.  The struggle left her pale and very calm.  At last the way of duty was clear.  This day should settle it once for all.  There must be no renewal of this man’s suit.  He must go.