"Oh, dear, I didn't think so much sinfulness could be packed in so young a life! But say, Annie, what's the use of fooling?
I got to tell you the truth about it sometime.

Like on my flour sack: 'Eventual, why not now ?' And the plain, plumb truth is, you're the best as well as the pertiest girl that ever set a foot on Montana dirt." Annie's face was turned away now.
"Your hair and eyes and teeth, and your way of talking, and your way of taking hold of things and making a home--haven't you been making a home fer all of us people here?
I told you I'd have to tell the truth at last.

Besides, I said I was to blame for everything that's gone wrong here.

I was.

But I'll give you all I am and all I got to square it, anyways you like." "Well, anyways," said Annie Squires, drawing a long breath, "I think if you took on something, you'd see it through; and you wouldn't pass the buck if you fell down." "That's me," said Wid.
"I get you," said Annie.
"You said that to me right out here in broad daylight, in presence of witnesses, four hens and a dog." "I said I understood you.