"Wal, you dog-gone soon will.

Jack's in Kremmlin', an' he'll be hyar to-night or to-morrow." "But--I--I don't l-love him," faltered Columbine.
The old man lost his mirth; the strong-lined face resumed its hard cast; the big eyes smoldered.

Her appealing objection had wounded him.

She was reminded of how sensitive the old man had always been to any reflection cast upon his son.
"Wal, thet's onlucky;" he replied, gruffly.

"Mebbe you'll change.