CHAPTER XXI
HOME ONCE MORE
"Oh, father, it looks just the same! There are our mountains thatColonel Standish and I said good-by to. Oh, daddy, I've missed themountains so! And there are the foot-hills! Aren't they green? And seethe flowers on them! Oh, there's a shooting star! I saw it in thehollow as we passed. And aren't the grain fields lovely with the windsweeping over them? Oh, father, won't the girls just love it? Andwon't it be perfectly lovely to have them? I never saw any one sohappy as Carver Standish when he said you had asked him. The Colonelwas smiling all over, too. It will be a regular house-party, won't it?And isn't it wonderful that Aunt Nan's coming with all of them? Oh,father, weren't we happy in Vermont, and isn't it just the loveliestthing in all the world that we have grandmother and Aunt Nan for ourvery own? I know mother would be happy, don't you?"
"I'm sure she would be very happy, dear. It's what we used to hope foryears ago. And I'm the happiest man in all Wyoming to have my littledaughter back, and I'm more glad than ever that I sent her away toschool."
"Oh, I'm so glad that I can't help thinking about it. Just think ifI'd never gone, I'd never have known Priscilla--isn't she dear,father--or Dorothy, or Mary and Anne, or those dear, funny Blackmoretwins, or Vivian--Vivian seems silly, father, but she isn't really,she's fine underneath, you'll see--or Miss King, or darling MissWallace--oh, daddy, wasn't she too dear for anything when she saidgood-by? She kissed me twice. It's selfish to notice, but I couldn'thelp it. She's one of my very dearest friends. Didn't you like herespecially?"
"Very much, dear. See, we're coming nearer. We've crossed the creekbridge. Better put on your hat."
Fifteen minutes later they had left the dingy little station and weredriving along the country road between fields of waving grain, theproud Dick being holder of the reins. Virginia plied him with eagerquestions.
"Oh, Dick, how is the colt?"
"Fine, Miss Virginia. We put him on the range last month."
"The road lay at the very base of the greenfoot-hills."]
"And how's Pedro?"
"He's fine, too."
"Have the little collies grown much?"
Dick laughed. "They're not little any more, Miss Virginia."
"And how are Alec and Joe and Hannah and Mr. Weeks and William?"
"They're first-rate, and all anxious to see you."
Virginia clung closer to her father's hand. "It seems strange, doesn'tit, father," she whispered, her voice breaking, "and--and sad not tohave Jim drive us home?"
For miles they drove across the broad prairies, past grain fields andthrough barren, unirrigated stretches. Then at last they turned a bendin the road, and there before them lay the nearer foot-hills, with thehigher ranges above, and far above all the mountains--stillsnow-covered.
"They look really friendly this morning with the sun on them," saidVirginia, "and they ought to when I love them so, and am coming backto them."
They turned again. This time the road lay at the very base of thegreen foot-hills, upon which cattle and horses were feeding. On theside of one of the hills rose a great spruce, and on the ground nearit, Virginia's quick eyes caught a glow of color.
"Is that--?" she whispered to her father.
"Yes," he said softly. "That's where Jim lies. We fenced in the rangefor a good distance all around the tree so the cattle couldn't gothere; and William tended some plants all winter so that he could putthem there early in the spring. They're all in blossom now, you see."
Virginia could not speak. She watched the great spruce and the colorbeneath it, until they rounded the hill and both were hidden fromsight. Then she put her head against her father's shoulder, while he,understanding, held her close. Jim's absence was the only shadow uponher home-coming. Nothing would seem the same without him; and now thathe was gone, the girls would never understand why it was that she hadloved him so. If they could only have seen him, then they would haveknown!
"You can see home now, little girl," said her father.
She raised her head eagerly. Yes, there it was--the green wheat fields,the avenue of tall cottonwoods whose leaves were fluttering in thewind, the long white ranch-house, from the window of which some onewas waving a red handkerchief.
"Hannah!" cried Virginia, as she waved her own handkerchief in answer.
A few minutes more and they were driving beneath the cottonwoods.Around the corner of the house bounded the collie dogs, the pupsindistinguishable from their mother, to give them welcome; in thedoorway stood Hannah, her face bright with joy; and by Virginia'sflower-bed, in which spikes of blue larkspur, reaching to her window,were brave with bloom, stood William--a new William, with the sadnessand the failures quite gone from his face.
"Oh, William," cried Virginia, jumping from the carriage, and runningup to him; "Oh, William, it's next best to having Jim to have you--likethis!"
* * * * *
That afternoon Elk Creek Valley lay bathed in June sunshine. It hadnever seemed so beautiful--at least to a certain boy and girl, whorested their horses on the brow of the Mine, and looked off across acreek bordered by cottonwoods and merry, laughing quaking-asps, acrossa blue-green sea of waving grain, to the distant, snow-furrowedmountain peaks. Some magpies flew chattering over the prairie andamong the quaking-asps; a meadow lark sang from a near-by tree-stump;and two cotton-tail rabbits chased each other across the open spacebetween the creek and the foot-hills, and played hide-and-seek behindthe sage-brush.
"Isn't it the loveliest place in all the world, Don?" the girl almostwhispered. "I know I'll not be any happier when I get to Heaven. Andsome way the mountains are friendlier than ever. Perhaps because Ilove them better now I'm home again."
"It is lovely," the boy answered. "The finest country anywhere! I'mmighty glad you're home again, Virginia; but the thing I'm most gladabout is, that you aren't a young lady after all!"
THE END