“This,” she observed, “is the only thing about camp that reminds me I’m a woman.  I’d plumb forget it many a time if it warn’t for this little tub.  The identity of a woman is mighty apt to get mislaid when dooty compels her to assoome the pants cast aside by the nacheral head of the house in sickness or death.  It’s ben six years now since paw’s done a thing but set ’round and wait for meals.”  Mrs. Yellett sighed laboriously.  “Not that I’m holdin’ it agin him none.  When a man sees eighty, it’s time he bedded himself down comfortable and waited for the nacheral course of events to weed him out.  But when the boys get old enough to tend to herdin’, irrigatin’, and the work that God A’mighty provided that man might get the chance to sweat hisself for bread, accordin’ to the Scriptures, I aim to indulge myself by doin’ a wash of clothes every day, even if I have to take clean clothes and do ’em over again.”

The poor “gov’ment’s” tender heart could not resist this presentation of the case.

“We won’t touch the handles, Mrs. Yellett,” she laughed.  “I’m glad you told me you had a personal sentiment for the tub.  There are some things I should feel the same way about—­my hoe and rake, for instance, that I care for my garden with, at home.  And that suggests to me, why not dig two little trenches for the handles and plant the tub?  Then I shall have an even firmer foundation on which to arrange the—­the—­the educational miscellany.”

The suggestion of this harmless expedient was gratefully received, and the “desk” duly implanted, whereupon Mary pathetically sought to embellish her “class-room” from such scanty materials as happened to be at hand.  A hemstitched bureau scarf that she had tucked in her trunk, in unquestioning faith in the bureau that was to be part of the ranch equipment, took the “raw edge,” as it were, off the desk.  A bunch of prairie flowers, flaming cactus blossoms in scarlet and yellow, ox-eyed daisies, white clematis from the creek, seemed none the less decorative for the tin cup that held them.  Mary grimly told herself that her school was to have refining influences, even if it had no furniture.

The books, pencils, and paper arranged in decorous little piles, Miss Carmichael announced to her patroness that school was ready to open.  Mrs. Yellett, who had never heard that “a soft voice is an excellent thing in woman,” and whose chest-notes were not unlike those of a Durham in sustained volume of sound, made the valley of the Wind River echo with the summons of the pupils to school, upon which the teacher herself was overcome by the absurdity of the situation and had barely time to escape back of the willows, where she laughed till she cried.