IN THE HIGH VALLEY.
MEANWHILE, 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.
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 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.
"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."
Phillida was Elsie's little girl, two years and a half old now, and Dr.
Carr's namesake.
"How bad of her!" said Clover, smiling. "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."
"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."
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. 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.
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
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.
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, 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.
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 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.
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, which seemed to lift the
burden of years from his shoulders.
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 portieres
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 planned, and Clarence's life from that day to this had been, as
Clover mischievously told him, one paean 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!
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 manoeuvres highly,
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 _p_'s and _q_'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.
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 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.
"Missie like?" he asked this morning, indicating 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.
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 Valley, their _raison d'etre_, and must be put up with
accordingly.
"Do you suppose the Youngs have landed yet?" asked Elsie as she
qualified her husband's coffee with a dash of thick cream.
"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.
"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."
"There isn't much to say. She's just an ordinary sort of girl,--nice
enough and all that, not pretty."
"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."
"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."
"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."
"A neighborhood! I should think not! A neighborhood would be horrid. But
if two or three people wanted to come,--really nice ones, you know,
perfect charmers,--surely you and Clare wouldn't have the heart to
refuse to sell them building lots?"
"We are exactly a whist quartet now," said Clarence, patting his wife's
shoulder. "Cheer up, dear. You shall have your perfect charmers _when_
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?"
"Indeed, no! Clover and I have to work like beavers on the Youngs'
house. And, Clare, _we_ 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 _their_ quartet
to come from?"
[Illustration: "Down they came, hand in hand, chattering as they
went."--PAGE 111]
"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 about their future prospects, I must say."
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 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.
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 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.
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, 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.
"Fair Phillida flouts me," he said. "Doesn't baby like papa a bit? Ah,
well, he is going to cry, then."
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.
"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?"
"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 way, and deserve
the best that is going, even Phillida. She is none too good for me. Come
back, baby, to your exemplary parent."
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."
"No more did I," said Elsie, trying in vain to get away from her
pirouetting husband.
"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."
"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.
"Now, Clare dear, order Marigold and Summer-Savory, please, to be
brought down in half an hour, and tell old Jose 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."
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.
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 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.
"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."
"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
adored baby-houses when I was little, and this is the same thing grown
up."
"I don't know," replied Clover, abstractedly, as she threw a last
dustpanful of chips into the fire. "It _is_ 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 Jose 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."
"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."
"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 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."
"But are not she and Isabel very intimate?"
"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."
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.
"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 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!"
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.
"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?"
He stepped in at the door and took a critical survey of the interior,
while Clover and Elsie examined their letters.
"This telegram is for Geoff," explained Clover. "The Youngs are here,"
and she read:--
Safely landed. We reach Denver Thursday morning,
six-thirty.
LIONEL YOUNG.
"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--"
She was interrupted by a joyful shriek from Clover, who had torn open
her letter and was eagerly reading it.
"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 Roeslein! Was there ever anything so nice in this world! Just
hear what she says:"--
BOSTON, June 30.
MY DUCKY-DADDLES AND MY DEAR ELSIE GIRL,--I have
something so wonderful to tell that I can scarcely
find words in which to tell it. A kind Providence
_and_ 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 Fe. What _do_ 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.
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 _am_ 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 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 Fe, but Roeslein 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 Zuni 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?
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 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.
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.
Mother is well and my father, but the house seems
empty and lonely now. We can never get 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.
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.
Write at once if we may come. I won't begin on the
subject of Roeslein, whom you will never know, she
has grown so. She goes about saying rapturously,
"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!
YOUR OWN ROSE RED.
"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?"