<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2><h3>IN THE HIGH VALLEY.</h3>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/drop_m.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="100" alt="M" title="M" /></div>
<div class='unindent'>EANWHILE, as the "Limited" bore
the young English travellers on
their western way, a good deal of
preparation was going on for their benefit in
that special nook of the Rocky mountains toward
which their course was directed. It
was one of those clear-cut, jewel-like mornings
which seem peculiar to Colorado, with
dazzling gold sunshine, a cloudless sky of deep
sapphire blue, and air which had touched the
mountain snows somewhere in its nightly
blowing, and still carried on its wings the
cool pure zest of the contact.</div>
<p>Hours were generally early in the High
Valley, but to-day they were a little earlier
than usual, for every one had a sense
of much to be done. Clover Templestowe<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></SPAN></span>
did not always get up to administer to her
husband and brother-in-law their "stirrup-cup"
of coffee; but this morning she was
prompt at her post, and after watching them
ride up the valley, and standing for a moment
at the open door for a breath of the scented
wind, she seated herself at her sewing-machine.
A steady whirring hum presently
filled the room, rising to the floor above and
quickening the movements there. Elsie, running
rapidly downstairs half an hour later,
found her sister with quite a pile of little
cheese-cloth squares and oblongs folded on
the table near her.</p>
<p>"Dear me! are those the Youngs' curtains
you are doing?" she asked. "I fully meant
to get down early and finish my half. That
wretched little Phillida elected to wake up
and demand ''tories' from one o'clock till a
quarter past two. 'Hence these tears.' I
overslept myself without knowing it."</p>
<p>Phillida was Elsie's little girl, two years
and a half old now, and Dr. Carr's namesake.</p>
<p>"How bad of her!" said Clover, smiling.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></SPAN></span>
"I wish children could be born with a sense
of the fitness of times and seasons. Jeffy is
pretty good as to sleeping, but he is dreadful
about eating. Half the time he doesn't want
anything at dinner; and then at half-past
three, or a quarter to eight, or ten minutes
after twelve, or some such uncanonical
hour, he is so ragingly hungry that he can
scarcely wait till I fetch him something. He
is so tiresome about his bath too. Fancy a
young semi-Britain objecting to 'tub.' I've
circumvented him to-day, however, for Geoff
has promised to wash him while you and I
go up to set the new house in order. Baby
is always good with Geoff."</p>
<p>"So he is," remarked Elsie as she moved
about giving little tidying touches here and
there to books and furniture. "I never knew
a father and child who suited each other so
perfectly. Phil flirts with Clarence and he is
very proud of her notice, but I think they are
mutually rather shy; and he always touches
her as though she were a bit of eggshell
china, that he was afraid of breaking."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>The room in which the sisters were talking
bore little resemblance to the bare ranch-parlor
of old days. It had been enlarged by
a semi-circular bay window toward the mountain
view, which made it half as long again as
it then was; and its ceiling had been raised
two feet on the occasion of Clarence's marriage,
when great improvements had been
undertaken to fit the "hut" for the occupation
of two families. The solid redwood
beams which supported the floor above had
been left bare, and lightly oiled to bring out
the pale russet-orange color of the wood.
The spaces between the beams were rough-plastered;
and on the decoration of this
plaster, while in a soft state, a good deal of
time had been expended by Geoffrey Templestowe,
who had developed a turn for household
art, and seemed to enjoy lying for hours
on his back on a staging, clad in pajamas and
indenting the plaster with rosettes and sunken
half-rounds, using a croquet ball and a butter
stamp alternately, the whole being subsequently
finished by a coat of dull gold paint.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></SPAN></span>
He and Clover had themselves hung the walls
with its pale orange-brown paper; a herder
with a turn for carpentry had laid the new
floor of narrow redwood boards. Clover had
stained the striped pattern along its edges.
In that remote spot, where trained and regular
assistance could be had only at great trouble
and expense, it was desirable that every one
should utilize whatever faculty or accomplishment
he or she possessed, and the result was
certainly good. The big, homelike room,
with its well-chosen colors and look of taste
and individuality, left nothing to be desired
in the way of comfort, and was far prettier
and more original than if ordered cut-and-dried
from some artist in effects, to whom its
doing would have been simply a job and not
an enjoyment.</p>
<p>Clover's wedding presents had furnished part
of the rugs and etchings and bits of china
which ornamented the room, but Elsie's, who
had married into a "present-giving connection,"
as her sister Johnnie called it, did even more.
Each sister was supposed to own a private<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></SPAN></span>
sitting-room, made out of the little sleeping-chambers
of what Clarence Page stigmatized
as the "beggarly bachelor days," which were
thrown together two in one on either side
the common room. Clover and Elsie had
taken pains and pleasure in making these
pretty and different from each other, but as
a matter of fact the "private" parlors were
not private at all; for the two families were
such very good friends that they generally
preferred to be together. And the rooms
were chiefly of use when the house was full
of guests, as in the summer it sometimes was,
when Johnnie had a girl or two staying with
her, or a young man with a tendency toward
corners, or when Dr. Carr wanted to escape
from his young people and analyze flowers at
leisure or read his newspaper in peace and
quiet.</p>
<p>The big room in the middle was used by
both families as a dining and sitting place.
Behind it another had been added, which
served as a sort of mixed library, office, dispensary,
and storage-room, and over the four,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></SPAN></span>
extending to the very edge of the wide verandas
which flanked the house on three sides,
were six large bedrooms. Of these each family
owned three, and they had an equal right
as well to the spare rooms in the building
which had once been the kitchen. One of
these, called "Phil's room," was kept as a
matter of course for the use of that young
gentleman, who, while nominally studying
law in an office at St. Helen's, contrived to
get out to the Valley very frequently. The
interests of the party were so identical that
the matter of ownership seldom came up,
and signified little. The sisters divided the
house-keeping between them amicably, one
supplementing the other; the improvements
were paid for out of a common purse; their
guests, being equally near and dear, belonged
equally to all. It was an ideal arrangement,
which one quick tongue or jealous or hasty
temper would have brought to speedy conclusion,
but which had now lasted to the
satisfaction of all parties concerned for nearly
four years.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>That Clarence and Elsie should fancy
each other had been a secret though unconfessed
dream of Clover's ever since her own
engagement, when Clarence had endeared
himself by his manly behavior and real unselfishness
under trying circumstances. But
these dreams are rarely gratified, and she was
not at all prepared to have hers come true
with such unexpected ease and rapidity. It
happened on this wise. Six months after her
marriage, when she and Geoff and Clarence,
working together, had just got the "hut"
into a state to receive visitors, Mr. and Mrs.
Dayton, who had never forgotten or lost their
interest in their pretty fellow-traveller of two
years before, hearing from Mrs. Ashe how desirous
Clover was of a visit from her father
and sisters, wrote and asked the Carrs to go
out with them in car 47 as far as Denver, and
be picked up and brought back two months
later when the Daytons returned from Alaska.
The girls were wild to go, it seemed an opportunity
too good to be lost; so the invitation
was accepted, and, as sometimes happens, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></SPAN></span>
kindness shown had an unlooked-for return.
Mr. Dayton was seized with a sudden ill turn
on the journey, of a sort to which he was
subject, and Dr. Carr was able not only to
help him at the moment, but to suggest a
regimen and treatment which was of permanent
benefit to him. Doctor and patient grew
very fond of each other, and every year since,
when car 47 started on its western course, urgent
invitations came for any or all of them
to take advantage of it and go out to see
Clover; whereby that hospitable housekeeper
gained many visits which otherwise she would
never have had, Colorado journeys being expensive
luxuries.</p>
<p>But this is anticipating. No visit, they all
agreed, ever compared with that first one, when
they were so charmed to meet, and everything
was new and surprising and delightful.
The girls were enchanted with the Valley,
the climate, the wild fresh life, the riding, the
flowers, with Clover's little home made pretty
and convenient by such simple means,
while Dr. Carr revelled in the splendid air,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></SPAN></span>
which seemed to lift the burden of years
from his shoulders.</p>
<p>And presently began the excitement of
watching Clarence Page's rapid and successful
wooing of Elsie. No grass grew under his
feet this time, you may be sure. He fell in
love the very first evening, deeply and heartily,
and he lost no opportunity of letting Elsie
know his sentiments. There was no rival in his
way at the High Valley or elsewhere, and the
result seemed to follow as a matter of course.
They were engaged when the party went
back to Burnet, and married the following
spring, Mr. Dayton fitting up 47 with all
manner of sentimental and delightful appointments,
and sending the bride and bridegroom
out in it,—as a wedding present, he said, but
in truth the car was a repository of wedding
presents, for all the rugs and portières and
silken curtains and brass plaques and pretty
pottery with which it was adorned, and the
flower-stands and Japanese kakemonos, were
to disembark at St. Helen's and help to decorate
Elsie's new home. All went as was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></SPAN></span>
planned, and Clarence's life from that day to
this had been, as Clover mischievously told
him, one pæan of thanksgiving to her for refusing
him and opening the way to real happiness.
Elsie suited him to perfection. Everything
she said and did and suggested was
exactly to his mind, and as for looks, Clover
was dear and nice as could be, of course, and
pretty,—well, yes, people would undoubtedly
consider her a pretty little woman; but as for
any comparison between the two sisters, it
was quite out of the question! Elsie had so
decidedly the advantage in every point, including
that most important point of all, that
she preferred him to Geoff Templestowe and
loved him as heartily as he loved her. Happiness
and satisfied affection had a wonderfully
softening influence on Clarence, but it was
equally droll and delightful to Clover to see
how absolutely Elsie ruled, how the least
indication of her least finger availed to mould
Clarence to her will,—Clarence, who had
never yielded easily to any one else in the
whole course of his life!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>So the double life flowed smoothly on in
the High Valley, but not quite so happily at
Burnet, where Dr. Carr, bereft of four out of
his six children, was left to the companionship
of the steady Dorry, and what he was
pleased to call "a highly precarious tenure
of Miss Joanna." Miss Joanna was a good
deal more attractive than her father desired
her to be. He took gloomy views of the
situation, was disposed to snub any young
man who seemed to be casting glances toward
his last remaining treasure, and finally announced
that when Fate dealt her last and
final blow and carried off Johnnie, he should
give up the practice of medicine in Burnet,
and retire to the High Valley to live as physician
in ordinary to the community for the
rest of his days. This prospect was so alluring
to the married daughters that they turned at
once into the veriest match-makers and were
disposed to many Johnnie off immediately,—it
didn't much matter to whom, so long as
they could get possession of their father.
Johnnie resented these manœuvres highly,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></SPAN></span>
and obstinately refused to "remove the impediment,"
declaring that self-sacrifice was
all very well, but she couldn't and wouldn't
see that it was her duty to go off and be content
with a dull anybody, merely for the
sake of giving papa up to that greedy Clover
and Elsie, who had everything in the world
already and yet were not content. She liked
to be at the head of the Burnet house and
rule with a rod of iron, and make Dorry mind
his <i>p</i>'s and <i>q</i>'s; it was much better fun than
marrying any one, and there she was determined
to stay, whatever they might say or
do. So matters stood at the present time, and
though Clover and Elsie still cherished little
private plans of their own, nothing, so far,
seemed likely to come of them.</p>
<p>Elsie had time to set the room in beautiful
order, and Clover had nearly finished her
hemming, before the sound of hoofs announced
the return of the two husbands from their
early ride. They came cantering down the
side pass, with appetites sharpened by exercise,
and quite ready for the breakfast which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></SPAN></span>
Choo Loo presently brought in from the new
cooking-cabin, set a little one side out of
sight, in the shelter of the grove. Choo Loo
was still a fixture in the valley. He and his
methods were a puzzle and somewhat of a
distress to the order-loving Clover, who distrusted
not a little the ways and means of
his mysteriously conducted kitchen; but servants
were so hard to come by at the High
Valley, and Choo Loo was so steady and
faithful and his viands on the whole so good,
that she judged it wise to ask no questions
and not look too closely into affairs but just
take the goods the gods provided, and be
thankful that she had any cook at all. Choo
Loo was an amiable heathen also, and very
pleased to serve ladies, who appreciated his
attempts at decoration, for he had an eye for
effect and loved to make things pretty. Clover
understood this and never forgot to notice and
praise, which gratified Choo Loo, who had
found his bachelor employers in the old days
somewhat dull and unobservant in this respect.</p>
<p>"Missie like?" he asked this morning, indicating<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></SPAN></span>
the wreath of wild cranberry vine
round the dish of chicken. Then he set a
mound of white raspberries in the middle of
the table, starred with gold-hearted brown
coreopsis, and asked again, "Missie like dat?"
pleased at Clover's answering nod and smile.
Noiselessly he came and went in his white-shod
feet, fetching in one dish after another,
and when all was done, making a sort of
dual salaam to the two ladies, and remarking
"Allee yeady now," after which he departed,
his pigtail swinging from side to side and
his blue cotton garments flapping in the wind
as he walked across to the cook-house.</p>
<p>Delicious breaths of roses and mignonette
floated in as the party gathered about the
breakfast table. They came from the flower-beds
just outside, which Clover sedulously
tended, watered, and defended from the roving
cattle, which showed a provoking preference
for heliotropes over penstamens whenever
they had a chance to get at them. Cows were
a great trial, she considered; and yet after
all they were the object of their lives in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></SPAN></span>
Valley, their <i>raison d'être</i>, and must be put
up with accordingly.</p>
<p>"Do you suppose the Youngs have landed
yet?" asked Elsie as she qualified her husband's
coffee with a dash of thick cream.</p>
<p>"They should have got in last night if the
steamer made her usual time. I dare say we
shall find a telegram at St. Helen's to-morrow
if we go in," answered her brother-in-law.</p>
<p>"Yes, or possibly Phil will ride out and
fetch it. He is always glad of an excuse to
come. I wonder what sort of girl Miss Young
is. You and Clover never have said much
about her."</p>
<p>"There isn't much to say. She's just an
ordinary sort of girl,—nice enough and all
that, not pretty."</p>
<p>"Oh, Geoff, that's not quite fair. She's
rather pretty, that is, she would be if she
were not stiff and shy and so very badly
dressed. I didn't get on very much with her
at Clovelly, but I dare say we shall like her
here; and when she limbers out and becomes
used to our ways, she'll make a nice
neighbor."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Dear me, I hope so," remarked Elsie.
"It's really quite important what sort of a
girl Miss Young turns out to be. A stiff person
whom you had to see every day would
be horrid and spoil everything. The only
thing we need, the only possible improvement
to the High Valley, would be a few
more nice people, just two or three, with
pretty little houses, you know, dotted here
and there in the side canyons, whom we
could ride up to visit, and who would come
down to see us, and dine and play whist and
dance Virginia reels and 'Sally Waters' on
Christmas Eve. That would be quite perfect.
But I suppose it won't happen till
nobody knows how long."</p>
<p>"I suppose so, too," said Geoff in a tone
of well-simulated sympathy. "Poor Elsie,
spoiling for people! Don't set your heart
on them. High Valley isn't at all a likely
spot to make a neighborhood of."</p>
<p>"A neighborhood! I should think not! A
neighborhood would be horrid. But if two
or three people wanted to come,—really nice<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></SPAN></span>
ones, you know, perfect charmers,—surely
you and Clare wouldn't have the heart to
refuse to sell them building lots?"</p>
<p>"We are exactly a whist quartet now,"
said Clarence, patting his wife's shoulder.
"Cheer up, dear. You shall have your perfect
charmers <i>when</i> they apply; but meantime
changes are risky, and I am quite content
with things as they are, and am ready to
dance Sally Waters with you at any time
with pleasure. Might I have the honor now,
for instance?"</p>
<p>"Indeed, no! Clover and I have to work
like beavers on the Youngs' house. And,
Clare, <i>we</i> are quite a complete party in
ourselves, as you say; but there are the
children to be considered. Geoffy and Phillida
will want to play whist one of these
days, and where is <i>their</i> quartet to come
from?"</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus02.png" width-obs="332" height-obs="374" alt=""Down they came, hand in hand, chattering as they went."—Page 111" title="" /> <span class="caption">"Down they came, hand in hand, chattering as they went."—Page 111</span></div>
<p>"We shall have to consider that point
when they are a little nearer the whist age.
Here they come now. I hear the nursery
door slam. They don't look particularly dejected<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></SPAN></span>
about their future prospects, I must
say."</p>
<p>Four pairs of eyes turned expectantly toward
the staircase, down which there presently
came the dearest little pair of children
that can be imagined. Clover's boy of three
was as big as most people's boys of five, a
splendid sturdy little Englishman in build, but
with his mother's lovely eyes and skin. Phillida,
whose real name was Philippa, was of a
more delicate and slender make, with dark
brown eyes and a mane of ruddy gold which
repeated something of the tawny tints of her
father's hair and beard. Down they came
hand in hand, little Phil holding tightly to
the polished baluster, chattering as they went,
like two wood-thrushes. Neither of them had
ever known any other child playmates, and
they were devoted to each other and quite
happy together. Little Geoff from the first
had adopted a protecting attitude toward his
smaller cousin, and had borne himself like a
gallant little knight in the one adventure of
their lives, when a stray coyote, wandering<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></SPAN></span>
near the house, showed his teeth to the two
babies, whose nurse had left them alone for a
moment, and Geoff, only two then, had caught
up a bit of a stick and thrown himself in
front of Phillida with such a rush and shout
that the beast turned and fled, before Roxy
and the collies could come to the rescue.
The dogs chased the coyote up the ravine
down which he had come, and he showed
himself no more; but Clover was so proud
of her boy's prowess that she never forgot the
exploit, and it passed into the family annals
for all time.</p>
<p>One wonderful stroke of good-luck had
befallen the young mothers in their mountain
solitude, and that was the possession of
Roxy and her mother Euphane. They were
sister and niece to good old Debby, who for
so many years had presided over Dr. Carr's
kitchen; and when they arrived one day in
Burnet fresh from the Isle of Man, and announced
that they had come out for good to
better their fortunes, Debby had at once
devoted them to the service of Clover and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></SPAN></span>
Elsie. They proved the greatest possible
comfort and help to the High Valley household.
The place did not seem lonely to
them, used as they were to a still lonelier
cabin at the top of a steep moor up which
few people ever came. The Colorado wages
seemed riches, the liberal comfortable living
luxury to them, and they rooted and established
themselves, just as Debby had done,
into a position of trusted and affectionate
helpfulness, which seemed likely to endure.
Euphane was housemaid, Roxy nurse; it
already seemed as though life could never
have gone on without them, and Clover was
disposed to emulate Dr. Carr in objecting to
"followers," and in resenting any admiring
looks cast by herders at Roxy's rosy English
cheeks and pretty blue eyes.</p>
<p>Little Geoff ran to his father's knee, as a
matter of course, on arriving at the bottom of
the stairs, while Phillida climbed her mother's,
equally as a matter of course. Safely established
there, she began at once to flirt with
Clarence, making wide coquettish eyes at him,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></SPAN></span>
smiling, and hiding her face to peep out and
smile again. He seized one of her dimpled
hands and kissed it. She instantly pulled it
away, and hid her face again.</p>
<p>"Fair Phillida flouts me," he said. "Doesn't
baby like papa a bit? Ah, well, he is going to
cry, then."</p>
<p>He buried his face in his napkin and sobbed
ostentatiously. Phillida, not at all impressed,
tugged bravely at the corner of the handkerchief;
but when the sobs continued and grew
louder, she began to look troubled, and leaning
forward suddenly, threw her arms round
her father's neck and laid her rose-leaf lips on
his forehead. He caught her up rapturously
and tossed her high in air, kissing her every
time she came down.</p>
<p>"You angel! you little angel! you little
dear!" he cried, with a positive dew of pleasure
in his eyes. "Elsie, what have we ever
done to deserve such a darling?"</p>
<p>"I really don't know what you have done,"
remarked Elsie, coolly; "but I have done a
good deal. I always was meritorious in my<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></SPAN></span>
way, and deserve the best that is going, even
Phillida. She is none too good for me. Come
back, baby, to your exemplary parent."</p>
<p>She rose to recapture the child; but Clarence
threw a strong arm about her, still holding
Phillida on his shoulder, and the three
went waltzing merrily down the room, the
little one from her perch accenting the dance
time with a series of small shouts. Little
Geoff looked up soberly, with his mouth full
of raspberries, and remarked, "Aunty, I didn't
ever know that people danced at breakfast."</p>
<p>"No more did I," said Elsie, trying in vain
to get away from her pirouetting husband.</p>
<p>"No more does any one outside this extraordinary
valley of ours," laughed Geoff.
"Now, partner, if you have finished your fandango,
allow me to remind you that there are
a hundred and forty head of cattle waiting to
be branded in the upper valley, and that Manuel
is to meet us there at ten o'clock."</p>
<p>"And we have the breakfast things to wash,
and a whole world to do at the Youngs'," declared
Elsie, releasing herself with a final twirl.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></SPAN></span>
"Now, Clare dear, order Marigold and Summer-Savory,
please, to be brought down in half an
hour, and tell old José that we want him to
help and scrub. No, young man, not another
turn. These sports are unseemly on such a
busy day as this. 'Dost thou not suspect my
place? dost thou not suspect my years?' as
the immortal W. would say. I am twenty-five,—nearly
twenty-six,—and am not to
be whisked about thus."</p>
<p>Everybody went everywhere on horseback
in the High Valley, and the gingham riding-skirts
and wide-brimmed hats hung always on
the antlers, ready to hand, beside water-proofs
and top-coats. Before long the sisters were
on their way, their saddle-pockets full of little
stores, baskets strapped behind them, and the
newly made curtains piled on their laps. The
distance was about a mile to the house which
Lionel Young and his sister were to inhabit.</p>
<p>It stood in a charming situation on the slope
of one of the side canyons, facing the high
range and backed by a hillside clothed with
pines. In build it was very much such a cabin<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></SPAN></span>
as the original hut had been,—six rooms, all
on one floor, the sixth being a kitchen. It
was newly completed, and sawdust and fresh
shavings were littered freely about the place.
Clover's first act was to light a fire in the
wide chimney for burning these up.</p>
<p>"It looks bare enough," she remarked,
sweeping away industriously. "But it will
be quite easy to make it pleasant if Imogen
Young has any faculty at that sort of thing.
I'm sure it's a great deal more promising
than the Hut was before Clarence and Geoff
and I took hold of it. See, Elsie,—this room
is done. I think Miss Young will choose it
for her bedroom, as it is rather the largest;
so you might tack up the dotted curtains
here while I sweep the other rooms. And
that convolvulus chintz is to cover her dress-pegs."</p>
<p>"What fun a house is!" observed Elsie a
moment or two later, between her hammer
strokes. "People who can get a carpenter
or upholsterer to help them at any minute
really lose a great deal of pleasure. I always<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></SPAN></span>
adored baby-houses when I was little,
and this is the same thing grown up."</p>
<p>"I don't know," replied Clover, abstractedly,
as she threw a last dustpanful of chips
into the fire. "It <i>is</i> good fun, certainly; but
out here one has so much of it that sometimes
it comes under the suspicion of being
hard work. Now, when José has the kitchen
windows washed it will all be pretty decent.
We can't undertake much beyond making
the first day or two more comfortable. Miss
Young will prefer to make her own plans
and arrangements; and I don't fancy she's
the sort of girl who will enjoy being too
much helped."</p>
<p>"Somehow I don't get quite an agreeable
idea of Miss Young from what you and Geoffrey
say of her. I do hope she isn't going
to make herself disagreeable."</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm sure she won't do that; but
there is a wide distance between not being
disagreeable and being agreeable. I didn't
mean to give you an unpleasant impression
of her. In fact, my recollections about her<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></SPAN></span>
are rather indistinct. We didn't see a great
deal of her when we were at Clovelly, or perhaps
it was that Isabel and I were out so much
and there was so much coming and going."</p>
<p>"But are not she and Isabel very intimate?"</p>
<p>"I think so; but they are not a bit alike.
Isabel is delightful. I wish it were she who
was coming out. You would love her. Now,
my child, we must begin on the kitchen tins."</p>
<p>It was an all-day piece of work which they
had undertaken, and they had ordered dinner
late accordingly, and provided themselves
with a basket of sandwiches. By half-past five
all was fairly in order,—the windows washed,
the curtains up, kitchen utensils and china
unpacked and arranged, and the somewhat
scanty supply of furniture placed to the best
advantage.</p>
<p>"There! Robinson Crusoe would consider
himself in clover; and even Miss Young can
exist for a couple of days, I should think,"
said Elsie, standing back to note the effect of
the last curtain. "Lionel will have to go in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></SPAN></span>
to St. Helen's and get a lot of things out
before it will be really comfortable, though.
There come the boys now to ride home with
us. No, there is only one horse. Why, it is
Phil!"</p>
<p>Phil indeed it was, but such a different Phil
from the delicate boy whom Clover had taken
out to Colorado six years before. He was
now a broad-shouldered, muscular, athletic
young fellow, full of life and energy, and
showing no trace of the illness which at that
time seemed so menacing. He gave a shout
when he caught sight of his sisters, and
pushed his broncho to a gallop, waving a
handful of envelopes high in air.</p>
<p>"This despatch came last night for Geoff,"
he explained, dismounting, "and there were a
lot of letters besides, so I thought I'd better
bring them out. I left the newspapers and
the rest at the house, and fetched your share
on. Euphane told me where you two were. So
this is where the young Youngs are going
to live, is it?"</p>
<p>He stepped in at the door and took a critical<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></SPAN></span>
survey of the interior, while Clover and
Elsie examined their letters.</p>
<p>"This telegram is for Geoff," explained
Clover. "The Youngs are here," and she
read:—</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>Safely landed. We reach Denver Thursday morning,
six-thirty.</p>
<div class='sig'>
<span class="smcap">Lionel Young</span>.<br/></div>
</div>
<p>"So they will get here on Thursday afternoon.
It's lucky we came up to-day. My
letters are from Johnnie and Cecy Slack.
Johnnie says—"</p>
<p>She was interrupted by a joyful shriek
from Clover, who had torn open her letter
and was eagerly reading it.</p>
<p>"Oh, Elsie, Elsie, what do you think is going
to happen? The most enchanting thing!
Rose Red is coming out here in August!
She and Mr. Browne and Röslein! Was there
ever anything so nice in this world! Just
hear what she says:"—</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<div class='right'>
<span class="smcap">Boston</span>, June 30.<br/></div>
<p><span class="smcap">My Ducky-Daddles and my dear Elsie girl</span>,—I
have something so wonderful to tell that I can
scarcely find words in which to tell it. A kind<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></SPAN></span>
Providence <i>and</i> the A. T. and S. F. R. R. have
just decided that Deniston must go to New Mexico
early in August. This would not have been at all
delightful under ordinary circumstances, for it would
only have meant perspiration on his part and widowhood
on mine, but most fortunately, some angels
with a private car of their own have turned up, and
have asked all three of us to go out with them as
far as Santa Fé. What <i>do</i> you think of that? It
is not the Daytons, who seem only to exist to carry
you to and fro from Burnet to Colorado free of expense,
this time, but another batch of angels who
have to do with the road,—name of Hopkinson.
I never set eyes on them, but they appear to my
imagination equipped with the largest kind of
wings, and nimbuses round their heads as big as
shade-hats.</p>
<p>I have always longed to get out somehow to your
Enchanted Valley, and see all your mysterious husbands
and babies, and find out for myself what the
charm is that makes you so wonderfully contented
there, so far from West Cedar Street and the other
centres of light and culture, but I never supposed
I could come unless I walked. But now I <i>am</i> coming!
I do hope none of you have the small-pox, or
pleuro-pneumonia, or the "foot-and-mouth disease"
(whatever that is), or any other of the ills to which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></SPAN></span>
men and cattle are subject, and which will stand in
the way of the visit. Deniston, of course, will be
forced to go right through to Santa Fé, but Röslein
and I are at your service if you like to have us.
We don't care for scenery, we don't want to see
Mexico or the Pacific coast, or the buried cities of
Central America, or the Zuñi corn dance,—if
there is such a thing,—or any alkaline plains, or
pueblos, or buttes, or buffalo wallows; we only
want to see you, individually and collectively, and
the High Valley. May we come and stay a fortnight?
Deniston thinks he shall be gone at least
as long as that. We expect to leave Boston on the
31st of July. You will know what time we ought
to get to St. Helen's,—I don't, and I don't care, so
only we get there and find you at the station. Oh,
my dear Clovy, isn't it fun?</p>
<p>I have seen several of our old school-set lately,
Esther Dearborn for one. She is Mrs. Joseph P.
Allen now, as you know, and has come to live at
Chestnut Hill, quite close by. I had never seen her
since her marriage, nearly five years since, till the
other day, when she asked me out to lunch, and
introduced me to Mr. Joseph P., who seems a very
nice man, and also—now don't faint utterly, but
you will! to their seven children! He had two of
his own when they married, and they have had two<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></SPAN></span>
pairs of twins since, and "a singleton," as they say
in whist. Such a houseful you never did see; but
the twins are lovely, and Esther looks very fat and
happy and well-to-do, and says she doesn't mind it
a bit, and sees more clearly every day that the thing
she was born for was to take the charge of a large
family. Her Joseph P. is very well off, too. I
should judge that they "could have cranberry sauce
every day and never feel the difference," which an
old cousin of my mother's, whom I dimly remember
as a part of my childhood, used to regard as representing
the high-water mark of wealth.</p>
<p>Mary Strothers has been in town lately, too. She
has only one child, a little girl, which seems miserably
few compared with Esther, but on the other
hand she has never been without neuralgia in the
face for one moment since she went to live in the
Hoosac Tunnel, she told me, so there are compensations.
She seems happy for all that, poor dear
Mary. Ellen Gray never has married at all, you
know. She goes into good works instead, girls'
Friendlies and all sorts of usefulnesses. I do admire
her so much, she is a standing reproach and
example to me. "Wish I were a better boy," as
your brother Dorry said in his journal.</p>
<p>Mother is well and my father, but the house
seems empty and lonely now. We can never get<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></SPAN></span>
used to dear grandmamma's loss, and Sylvia is gone
too. She and Tom sailed for Europe in April, and
it makes a great difference having them away, even
for a summer. My brother-in-law is such a nice
fellow, I hope you will know him some day.</p>
<p>And all this time I have forgotten to tell you the
chief news of all, which is that I have seen Katy.
Deniston and I spent Sunday before last with her at
the Torpedo station. She has a cosey, funny little
house, one of a row of five or six, built on the spine,
so to speak, of a narrow, steep island, with a beautiful
view of Newport just across the water. It was
a superb day, all shimmery blue and gold, and we
spent most of our time sitting in a shady corner of
the piazza, and talking of the old times and of all
of you. I didn't know then of this enchanting
Western plan, or we should have had a great deal
more to talk about. The dear Katy looks very well
and handsome, and was perfectly dear, as she always
is, and she says the Newport climate suits
her to perfection. Your brother-in-law is a stunner!
I asked Katy if she wasn't going out to see
you soon, and she said not till Ned went to sea next
spring, then she should go for a long visit.</p>
<p>Write at once if we may come. I won't begin on
the subject of Röslein, whom you will never know,
she has grown so. She goes about saying rapturously,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></SPAN></span>
"I shall see little Geoff! I shall see Phillida!
I shall see Aunt Clovy! Perhaps I shall
ride on a horse!" You'll never have the heart
to disappoint her. My "milk teeth are chattering
with fright" at the idea of so much railroad, as one
of her books says, but for all that we are coming,
if you let us. Do let us!</p>
<div class='sig'>
<span class="smcap">Your own Rose Red.</span><br/></div>
</div>
<p>"Let them! I should think so," cried
Clover, with a little skip of rapture. "Dear,
dear Rose! Elsie, the nicest sort of things
do happen out here, don't they?"</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />