The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. ” She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they both stood still. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed.
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