CHAPTER XVII
THE LANGUAGE OF THE FLOWERS
All that was possible of geyserland was seen by the ranch girls andtheir friends during the long day: geysers alive and dead, spouting andsilent, great and small, and all the magic, shining pools in theneighborhood, until there seemed no words left for wonderment and nostrength for further admiration. The coaching party had brought withthem the clothes and supplies they would need for several days andnights, as they meant to make the tour of the Park before returning totheir starting place, spending the nights in the various hotels alongtheir route.
Mr. Drummond had intended to return to the Lake the same evening, butthis was before he spent a picnic day with the ranch girls. After ahurried consultation with Jim he decided to go on with the travelers.
It was late in the afternoon of the first day, when Mrs. Harmon and Ruthfound a bit of wild woodland and declared they must rest and not seeanother sight. They were in walking distance of the hotel where theywere to spend the night, and Jim and Mr. Drummond went ahead with thehorses and coach to see what arrangements had been made for theircomfort.
The two older women were getting out the tea basket and lighting theiralcohol lamp, when Jean and Donald insisted on trying to boil the waterat one of the hot springs in the neighborhood. Olive, Frieda and Carlosfollowed them, Frieda anxious to avert a tragedy. Having read in herguidebook that a small dog, leaping into the pool for a stick, had beenboiled and sizzled to death, she was determined that no one of themshould meet the same fate.
As Elizabeth was tired, Jack stayed behind with her, letting the sickgirl rest her head in her lap while they talked of the day'sexperiences.
Suddenly Elizabeth sat up. "Let me do your hair for you, Jack," shebegged. "I want to see it over your shoulders. I know it is prettierthan mine; and for once I won't be jealous." Instead of two long braidsJack, in honor of her ride with Mr. Drummond, had twisted her hair intoa coronet. Slowly Elizabeth began to unwind it.
"Of course my hair isn't prettier than yours," Jack protested. "It isnot so lovely and shiny. Nobody thinks it is even half so nice asFrieda's or Jean's or Olive's, and I don't care a bit, neither do you,you goose."
Elizabeth sighed. "Yes, I do, Jack," she confessed honestly. "You don'tcare because you have so much, but I have so little I am awfully jealousand envious."
Jack's frank face clouded. She did not know exactly what to say to soqueer a girl as Elizabeth Harmon. The ranch girls never preached, andJack was not inclined to be critical, always preferring action tospeech, so that now she found herself in deep water.
"Look here, Elizabeth," she said a moment later, with a wisdom greaterthan she dreamed, "I believe you make yourself sicker by thinking somuch about your illness and worrying about the things you _can't_ do. Iknow it is awfully hard, but if you'll promise me while you are out westto try every day to see if you can walk a little farther and eat moreand not be cross, why, I'll do most anything in the world for you."
"Will you come and stay with me at Rainbow Lodge and let the others goon with their holiday?" Elizabeth begged.
Jack laughed and shook her head. "I couldn't do that, dear. I shouldfeel too queer and homesick to be visiting in my own home."
"Then you'll come to New York next winter to stay with me?" Elizabethdemanded. "That will be best of all. It seems so funny to me that you'venever been in a theater or to a big restaurant or to any large city!"
"I'd love to come, Elizabeth," Jack agreed, "but you mustn't expect me,for you know we ranch girls haven't any money except just enough to liveon, and I couldn't possibly take more than my share for such a trip."
Elizabeth pouted. "You don't know what it means not to be rich,Elizabeth," Jack explained. "Here come the others, thank goodness! I amnearly starved."
When Frieda, Carlos and Olive appeared, their hands were filled withevery variety of lovely wild flower. They had been searching the woodsand hills for them, while Jean and Donald hung over the boiling poolwith their kettle swung in the water by a long string. Olive and the twochildren flung their flowers in a heap in Ruth's lap. "Give us a botanylesson on the Park flowers when tea is over, Ruth," Olive suggested. "Iwish I knew as much about them as you do."
It was a beautiful afternoon, warm even for July in this part of thecountry, although the whole month had been such a mild one that thepeaks of the snow-capped Yellowstone mountains were less white thanusual, from the melting of the snow. Nobody seemed inclined to stir whentea was over. Ruth was idly twining a wreath of the wild flowers, whenJean flung herself down by her.
"Don't give us a real botany lesson, Ruth," Jean exclaimed. "I havethought of a much prettier idea. Suppose you tell us our characters inflowers. Give each one of us a special posy and then tell us the namesand habits of the flower, and say why you think we are like them."
Ruth laughed. "That's a small order, Miss Bruce," she answered; "but ifMrs. Harmon doesn't mind our foolish ways of having a good timetogether, I'll do my best."
Elizabeth sat up and a faint sparkle came into her eyes and a color inher face. "I should dearly love to hear our flower natures," Mrs. Harmonreturned, as eager and interested as any one of the company.
Ruth surveyed her bouquet critically. From the center of the tangledmass in her lap she carefully selected a thick cluster of deep blueforget-me-nots, and with a perfectly serious face leaned over and stuckthem into Jean's brown hair.
"Here, Jean, suppose we begin with you," she suggested. "I believe aforget-me-not is your flower."
Jean blushed a soft rose color that no one saw except Ruth. "I don't seewhy you select a forget-me-not for my flower, Ruth, dear," Jean remarkedinnocently. "I haven't forget-me-not eyes, like Elizabeth and Frieda,and I'm not a wonderful, unforgettable person, like Olive or Jack."
"Never mind, Jean, I have my own reasons for the choice," Ruth returned,and Jean suddenly flung her arms around Frieda and drew her to her lap,so that no one should see her face.
"Olive, dear, you are an evening primrose," Ruth declared, smiling ather own fancy. "I have an idea that part of the time you close up yourreal feelings inside you, just as this flower hides its blossoms in thedaytime. It's almost sunset now and time for it to show its delicate,pink petals. Don't let yourself grow too reserved, dear. Jack has yourconfidence now, but some day it may be best for the rest of us to knowyour real dreams and desires." Ruth handed a spray of the blossoms toOlive, with a smile as an apology for her little sermon, though it waswell meant and timely.
"Can't you find a flower for me?" Beth asked wistfully, her thin facelooking whiter than usual from her fatigue and in contrast with thebrilliant, glowing health of the ranch girls.
Ruth looked at the spoiled girl tenderly. Like Jack, she had taken moreof a fancy to her than to any member of the Harmon family.
"Here is a flower for you, Beth?" she returned gently. "I hope you willlike it. See, it's pure white and like velvet, and though it looksfragile and delicate it keeps its beauty longer than any of the otherflowers. Out here in the West they call it an 'immortelle.' It is aprettier name than our eastern title of 'everlasting.'"
Elizabeth's eyes swam with tears of pleasure, and Jack, reaching over,found the white buds in Ruth's lap and made them into a crown for herfriend's flowing gold hair, until in the soft light the pale girl lookedlike a mythical princess in an old Scandinavian legend.
Frieda's eyes were big and wistful and her lips trembled slightly, forshe was not accustomed to being overlooked while a strange girl was mademuch of by her own sister; indeed both Olive and Frieda had to stiflemany pangs of jealousy at Jack's interest in Elizabeth Harmon.
But fortunately Ruth caught Frieda's expression. "Dear me, baby, Ihaven't forgotten you," she announced. "Won't you be a bitter-rootblossom? The flower hasn't a pretty name, but you remember it was thefirst you gathered when we entered the park yesterday, and the reason Iselect it for you is because the old gypsy fortune teller said you weresweet and good enough to eat, and this flower is used for food by
theIndians, isn't it, Carlos?"
Frieda now smiled placidly, not understanding Ruth's meaning nor any ofthe other nonsense they were talking, but just the same not wishing tobe ignored.
"Now we all have our flowers except Jack," Olive remarked fondly.
"Oh, Ruth hasn't a flower for me. She has exhausted the wholecollection," Jack answered. "It is just as well, for I am the mostprosaic and unflowerlike character in the entire assembly."
"I don't believe that, Miss Ralston," Mrs. Harmon exclaimed, breakingunexpectedly into the conversation. "You are not like the other girls--Inever saw girls so unlike as you ranch girls. I suppose you mean thatyou are more matter-of-fact and have less sentiment than they have, butyou would do anything for a person you loved and you would never turnback from what you thought to be right. You'd face danger, like--well,like we ought all to face it," she ended seriously.
Olive kissed her hand to Jack. "She has done _all that_ for me," shemurmured, but Jack shook her head, not wishing the Harmons to knowanything of Olive's past, and no questions were asked.
"Oh, no, I haven't forgotten Jack. I have purposely saved the columbinefor her," Ruth replied. "I must agree with Mrs. Harmon, for it is anaspiring flower and grows taller than any of the other wild flowers. AndI am sure it has deep, ardent impulses; for see all its beautiful colorsfrom pure white to rich purple!"
Jack blushed uncomfortably. "Hear, hear!" Jean exclaimed half in fun andhalf in earnest. "For goodness' sake, don't shower any more complimentson Jacqueline Ralston or we won't be able to live with her. I don't seewhy you find so many marvelous virtues in her. Consider what an angel Iam, and yet nobody is devoting her time to mentioning my noblequalities."
Jack extracted a sofa cushion from Elizabeth's pile, flinging it withaccurate aim straight at her cousin's head. Jean returned it withinterest and then the girls chased one another around the trees untilthey were out of breath.
A little later Mr. Drummond and Jim Colter were seen walking towardthem, summoning them to the hotel. The entire company gathered up theirbelongings, and Donald carried his sister to a rolling chair which theyhad brought along in the stage.
Jean lingered a little in the background, putting her arm about Ruth'swaist to draw her away from the others.
"Ruth, dear," she said, with a far-away expression in her eyes, "you'vea tiny flower in your buttonhole which has been there all day. I wonderif Jim gave it to you?"
Ruth nodded. "Why do you ask?" she inquired.
"Oh, for no particular reason," Jean answered, "only I happen to knowthat Jim got up soon after daylight this morning, and climbed for milesand miles up a steep hill. Why don't you choose that flower, Ruth, asappropriate to your character?" Jean proposed, and her expression was soinnocent that Ruth began to guess at her meaning.
"The flower is called Indian Paint Brush," Jean continued; "but the namehas nothing to do with you. It is only that it grows on the peaks ofhigh, cold mountains and one has to climb and climb and struggle andstruggle to reach it. Poor old Jim!"
Ruth made no reply to her saucy companion, but hurried on to join therest of the party.