CHAPTER VII.
MAKING ACQUAINTANCE.
Phil was better than his word. He was never uncivil to Mrs. Watson, andhis distant manners, which really signified distaste, were set down bythat lady to boyish shyness.
"They often are like that when they are young," she told Clover; "but theyget bravely over it after a while. He'll outgrow it, dear, and you mustn'tlet it worry you a bit."
Meanwhile, Mrs. Watson's own flow of conversation was so ample that therewas never any danger of awkward silences when she was present, which was acomfort. She had taken Clover into high favor now, and Clover deservedit,--for though she protected herself against encroachments, andresolutely kept the greater part of her time free for Phil, she wasalways considerate, and sweet in manner to the older lady, and she foundspare half-hours every day in which to sit and go out with her, so thatshe should not feel neglected. Mrs. Watson grew quite fond of her "youngfriend," though she stood a little in awe of her too, and was disposed tobe jealous if any one showed more attention to Clover than to herself.
An early outburst of this feeling came on the third day after theirarrival, when Mrs. Hope asked Phil and Clover to dinner, and did _not_ askMrs. Watson. She had discussed the point with her husband, but the doctor"jumped on" the idea forcibly, and protested that if that old thing was tocome too, he would "have a consultation in Pueblo, and be off in the fivethirty train, sure as fate."
"It's not that I care," Mrs. Watson assured Clover plaintively. "I've hadso much done for me all my life that of course--But I _do_ like to beproperly treated. It isn't as if I were just anybody. I don't suppose Mrs.Hope knows much about Boston society anyway, but still--And I shouldthink a girl from South Framingham (didn't you say she was from SouthFramingham?) would at least know who the Abraham Peabodys are, and they'reHenry's--But I don't imagine she was much of anybody before she wasmarried; and out here it's all hail fellow and well met, they say, thoughin that case I don't see--Well, well, it's no matter, only it seems queerto me; and I think you'd better drop a hint about it when you're there,and just explain that my daughter lives next door to theLieutenant-Governor when she is in the country, and opposite theAssistant-Bishop in town, and has one of the Harvard Overseers for a nearneighbor, and is distantly related to the Reveres! You'd think even aSouth Framingham girl must know about the lantern and the Old South, andhow much they've always been respected at home."
Clover pacified her as well as she could, by assurances that it was not adinner-party, and they were only asked to meet one girl whom Mrs. Hopewanted her to know.
"If it were a large affair, I am sure you would have been asked too," shesaid, and so left her "old woman of the sea" partly consoled.
It was the most lovely evening possible, as Clover and Phil walked downthe street toward Dr. Hope's. Soft shadows lay over the lower spurs of theranges. The canyons looked black and deep, but the peaks still glitteredin rosy light. The mesa was in shadow, but the nearer plain lay in fullsunshine, hot and yellow, and the west wind was full of mountainfragrance.
Phil gave little skips as he went along. Already he seemed like adifferent boy. All the droop and languor had gone, and given place to anexhilaration which half frightened Clover, who had constant trouble inkeeping him from doing things which she knew to be imprudent. Dr. Hope hadwarned her that invalids often harmed themselves by over-exertion underthe first stimulus of the high air.
"Why, how queer!" she exclaimed, stopping suddenly before one of thepretty places just above Mrs. Marsh's boarding-house.
"What?"
"Don't you see? That yard! When we came by here yesterday it was all greengrass and rose-bushes, and girls were playing croquet; and now, look, it'sa pond!"
Sure enough! There were the rose-bushes still, and the croquet arches; butthey were standing, so to speak, up to their knees in pools of water,which seemed several inches deep, and covered the whole place, with theexception of the flagged walks which ran from the gates to the front andside doors of the house. Clover noticed now, for the first time, thatthese walks were several inches higher than the grass-beds on either side.She wondered if they were made so on purpose, and resolved to notice ifthe next place had the same arrangement.
But as they reached the next place and the next, lo! the phenomenon wasrepeated and Dr. Hope's lawn too was in the same condition,--everythingwas overlaid with water. They began to suspect what it must mean, andMrs. Hope confirmed the suspicion. It was irrigation day in MountainAvenue, it seemed. Every street in the town had its appointed period whenthe invaluable water, brought from a long distance for the purpose, was"laid on" and kept at a certain depth for a prescribed number of hours.
"We owe our grass and shrubs and flower-beds entirely to thisarrangement," Mrs. Hope told them. "Nothing could live through our drysummers if we did not have the irrigating system."
"Are the summers so dry?" asked Clover. "It seems to me that we have had athunder-storm almost every day since we came."
"We do have a good many thunderstorms," Mrs. Hope admitted; "but we can'tdepend on them for the gardens."
"And did you ever hear such magnificent thunder?" asked Dr. Hope."Colorado thunder beats the world."
"Wait till you see our magnificent Colorado hail," put in Mrs. Hope,wickedly. "That beats the world, too. It cuts our flowers to pieces, andsometimes kills the sheep on the plains. We are very proud of it. Thedoctor thinks everything in Colorado perfection."
"I have always pitied places which had to be irrigated," remarked Clover,with her eyes fixed on the little twin-lakes which yesterday were lawns."But I begin to think I was mistaken. It's very superior, of course, tohave rains; but then at the East we sometimes don't have rain when we wantit, and the grass gets dreadfully yellow. Don't you remember, Phil, howhard Katy and I worked last summer to keep the geraniums and fuschiasalive in that long drought? Now, if we had had water like this to comeonce a week, and make a nice deep pond for us, how different it would havebeen!"
"Oh, you must come out West for real comfort," said Dr. Hope. "The East isa dreadfully one-horse little place, anyhow."
"But you don't mean New York and Boston when you say 'one-horse littleplace,' surely?"
"Don't I?" said the undaunted doctor. "Wait till you see more of us outhere."
"Here's Poppy, at last," cried Mrs. Hope, as a girl came hurriedly up thewalk. "You're late, dear."
"Poppy," whose real name was Marian Chase, was the girl who had been askedto meet them. She was a tall, rosy creature, to whom Clover took aninstant fancy, and seemed in perfect health; yet she told them that whenshe came out to Colorado three years before, she had travelled on amattress, with a doctor and a trained nurse in attendance.
"Your brother will be as strong, or stronger than I at the end of a year,"she said; "or if he doesn't get well as fast as he ought, you must takehim up to the Ute Valley. That's where I made my first gain."
"Where is the valley?"
"Thirty miles away to the northwest,--up there among the mountains. It isa great deal higher than this, and such a lovely peaceful place. I hopeyou'll go there."
"We shall, of course, if Phil needs it; but I like St. Helen's so muchthat I would rather stay here if we can."
Dinner was now announced, and Mrs. Hope led the way into a pretty roomhung with engravings and old plates after the modern fashion, where awhite-spread table stood decorated with wild-flowers, candle-sticks withlittle red-shaded tapers, and a pyramid of plums and apricots. There wasthe usual succession of soup and fish and roast and salad which one looksfor at a dinner on the sea-level, winding up with ice-cream of a highlycivilized description, but Clover could scarcely eat for wondering how allthese things had come there so soon, so very soon. It seemed likemagic,--one minute the solemn peaks and passes, the prairie-dogs and thethorny plain, the next all these portieres and rugs and etchings and downpillows and pretty devices in glass and china, as if some enchanter's wandhad tapped the wilderness, and hey, presto! modern civilization had sprungup like Jonah'
s gourd all in a minute, or like the palace which Aladdinsummoned into being in a single night for the occupation of the Princessof China, by the rubbing of his wonderful lamp. And then, just as thefruit-plates were put on the table, came a call, and the doctor was out inthe hall, "holloing" and conducting with some distant patient one of thosemysterious telephonic conversations which to those who overhear seem allreplies and no questions. It was most remarkable, and quite unlike herpreconceived ideas of what was likely to take place at the base of theRocky Mountains.
A pleasant evening followed. "Poppy" played delightfully on the piano;later came a rubber of whist. It was like home.
"Before these children go, let us settle about the drive," said Dr. Hopeto his wife.
"Oh, yes! Miss Carr--"
"Oh, please, won't you call me Clover?"
"Indeed I will,--Clover, then,--we want to take you for a good long driveto-morrow, and show you something; but the trouble is, the doctor and Iare at variance as to what the something shall be. I want you to seeOdin's Garden; and the doctor insists that you ought to go to the Cheyennecanyons first, because those are his favorites. Now, which shall it be? Wewill leave it to you."
"But how can I choose? I don't know either of them. What a queername,--Odin's Garden!"
"I'll tell you how to settle it," cried Marian Chase, whose nickname itseemed had been given her because when she first came to St. Helen's shewore a bunch of poppies in her hat. "Take them to Cheyenne to-morrow; andthe next day--or Thursday--let me get up a picnic for Odin's Garden; justa few of our special cronies,--the Allans and the Blanchards and MaryPelham and Will Amory. Will you, dear Mrs. Hope, and be our matron? Thatwould be lovely."
Mrs. Hope consented, and Clover walked home as if treading on air. Wasthis the St. Helen's to which she had looked forward with so muchdread,--this gay, delightful place, where such pleasant things happened,and people were so kind? How she wished that she could get at Katy andpapa for five minutes--on a wishing carpet or something--to tell them howdifferent everything was from what she had expected.
One thing only marred her anticipations for the morrow, which was the fearthat Mrs. Watson might be hurt, and make a scene. Happily, Mrs. Hope'sthoughts took the same direction; and by some occult process of influence,the use of which good wives understand, she prevailed on her refractorydoctor to allow the old lady to be asked to join the party.
So early next morning came a very polite note; and it was proposed thatPhil should ride the doctor's horse, and act as escort to Miss Chase, whowas to go on horseback likewise. No proposal could have been moreagreeable to Phil, who adored horses, and seldom had the chance to mountone; so every one was pleased, and Mrs. Watson preened her ancestralfeathers with great satisfaction.
"You see, dear, how well it was to give that little hint about theReveres and the Abraham Peabodys," she said. Clover felt dreadfullydishonest; but she dared not confess that she had forgotten all about thehint, still less that she had never meant to give one. "The better part ofvalor is discretion," she remembered; so she held her peace, though hercheeks glowed guiltily.
At three o'clock they set forth in a light roomy carriage,--not exactly acarryall, but of the carryall family,--with a pair of fast horses, MissChase and Phil cantering happily alongside, or before or behind, just asit happened. The sun was very hot; but there was a delicious breeze, andthe dryness and elasticity of the air made the heat easy to bear.
The way lay across and down the southern slope of the plateau on which thetown was built. Then they came to splendid fields of grain and"afalfa,"--a cereal quite new to them, with broad, very green leaves. Theroadside was gay with flowers,--gillias and mountain balm; high pink andpurple spikes, like foxgloves, which they were told were pentstemons;painters' brush, whose green tips seemed dipped in liquid vermilion, andmasses of the splendid wild poppies. They crossed a foaming little river;and a sharp turn brought them into a narrower and wilder road, which ranstraight toward the mountain side. This was overhung by trees, whose shadewas grateful after the hot sun.
Narrower and narrower grew the road, more and more sharp the turns. Theywere at the entrance of a deep defile, up which the road wound and wound,following the links of the river, which they crossed and recrossedrepeatedly. Such a wonderful and perfect little river, with water clear asair and cold as ice, flowing over a bed of smooth granite, here slippingnoiselessly down long slopes of rock like thin films of glass, theredeepening into pools of translucent blue-green like aqua-marine or beryl,again plunging down in mimic waterfalls, a sheet of iridescent foam. Thesound of its rush and its ripple was like a laugh. Never was such happywater, Clover thought, as it curved and bent and swayed this way and thaton its downward course as if moved by some merry, capricious instinct,like a child dancing as it goes. Regiments or great ferns grew along itsbanks, and immense thickets of wild roses of all shades, from deepJacqueminot red to pale blush-white. Here and there rose a lonely spike ofyucca, and in the little ravines to right and left grew in the crevices ofthe rocks clumps of superb straw-colored columbines four feet high.
Looking up, Clover saw above the tree-tops strange pinnacles and spiresand obelisks which seemed air-hung, of purple-red and orange-tawny andpale pinkish gray and terra cotta, in which the sunshine and thecloud-shadows broke in a multiplicity of wonderful half-tints. Above themwas the dazzling blue of the Colorado sky. She drew a long, long breath.
"So this is a canyon," she said. "How glad I am that I have lived to seeone."
"Yes, this is a canyon," Dr. Hope replied. "Some of us think it _the_canyon; but there are dozens of others, and no two of them are alike. I'mglad you are pleased with this, for it's my favorite. I wish your fathercould see it."
Clover hardly understood what he said she was so fascinated and absorbed.She looked up at the bright pinnacles, down at the flowers and the sheenof the river-pools and the mad rush of its cascades, and felt as thoughshe were in a dream. Through the dream she caught half-comprehendedfragments of conversation from the seat behind. Mrs. Watson was giving herimpressions of the scenery.
"It's pretty, I suppose," she remarked; "but it's so very queer, and I'mnot used to queer things. And this road is frightfully narrow. If a loadof hay or a big Concord coach should come along, I can't think what weshould do. I see that Dr. Hope drives carefully, but yet--You don't thinkwe shall meet anything of the kind to-day, do you, Doctor?"
"Not a Concord coach, and certainly not a hay-wagon, for they don't makehay up here in the mountains."
"Well, that is a relief. I didn't know. Ellen she always says, 'Mother,you're a real fidget;' but when one grows old, and has valves in the heartas I have, you never--We might meet one of those big pedler's wagons,though, and they frighten horses worse than anything. Oh, what's thatcoming now? Let us get out, Dr. Hope; pray, let us all get out."
"Sit still, ma'am," said the doctor, sternly, for Mrs. Watson was wildlyfumbling at the fastening of the door. "Mary, put your arm round Mrs.Watson, and hold her tight. There'll be a real accident, sure as fate, ifyou don't." Then in a gentler tone, "It's only a buggy, ma'am; there'splenty of room. There's no possible risk of a pedler's wagon. What onearth should a pedler be doing up here on the side of Cheyenne!Prairie-dogs don't use pomatum or tin-ware."
"Oh, I didn't know," repeated poor Mrs. Watson, nervously. She watched thebuggy timorously till it was safely past; then her spirits revived.
"Well," she cried, "we're safe this time; but I call it temptingProvidence to drive so fast on such a rough road. If all canyons are aswild as this, I sha'n't ever venture to go into another."
"Bless me! this is one of our mildest specimens," said Dr. Hope, whoseemed to have a perverse desire to give Mrs. Watson a distaste forcanyons. "This is a smooth one; but some canyons are really rough. Do youremember, Mary, the day we got stuck up at the top of the Westmoreland,and had to unhitch the horses, and how I stood in the middle of the creekand yanked the carriage round while you held them? That was the day weheard the mountain lion, and the
re were fresh bear-tracks all over themud, you remember."
"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Watson, quite pale; "what an awful place!Bears and lions! What on earth did you go there for?"
"Oh, purely for pleasure," replied the doctor, lightly. "We don't mindsuch little matters out West. We try to accustom ourselves to wild beasts,and make friends of them."
"John, don't talk such nonsense," cried his wife, quite angrily. "Mrs.Watson, you mustn't believe a word the doctor says. I've lived in Coloradonine years; and I've never once seen a mountain lion, or a bear either,except the stuffed ones in the shops. Don't let the doctor frighten you."
But Dr. Hope's wicked work was done. Mrs. Watson, quite unconvinced bythese well-meant assurances, sat pale and awe-struck, repeating under herbreath,--
"Dreadful! What _will_ Ellen say? Bears and lions! Oh, dear me!"
"Look, look!" cried Clover, who had not listened to a word of thisconversation; "did you ever see anything so lovely?" She referred to whatshe was looking at,--a small point of pale straw-colored rock somehundreds of feet in height, which a turn in the road had just revealed,soaring above the tops of the trees.
"I don't see that it's lovely at all," said Mrs. Watson, testily. "It'sunnatural, if that's what you mean. Rocks ought not to be that color.They never are at the East. It looks to me exactly like an enormous unripebanana standing on end."
This simile nearly "finished" the party. "It's big enough to disagree withall the Sunday-schools in creation at once," remarked the doctor, betweenhis shouts, while even Clover shook with laughter. Mrs. Watson felt thatshe had made a hit, and grew complacent again.
"See what your brother picked for me," cried Poppy, riding alongside, andexhibiting a great sheaf of columbine tied to the pommel of her saddle."And how do you like North Cheyenne? Isn't it an exquisite place?"
"Perfectly lovely; I feel as if I must come here every day."
"Yes, I know; but there are so many other places out here about which youhave that feeling."
"Now we will show you the other Cheyenne Canyon,--the twin of this," saidDr. Hope; "but you must prepare your mind to find it entirely different."
After rather a rough mile or two through woods, they came to a woodenshed, or shanty, at the mouth of a gorge, and here Dr. Hope drew up hishorses, and helped them all out.
"Is it much of a walk?" asked Mrs. Watson.
"It is rather long and rather steep," said Mrs. Hope; "but it is lovely ifyou only go a little way in, and you and I will sit down the moment youfeel tired, and let the others go forward."
South Cheyenne Canyon was indeed "entirely different." Instead of agreen-floored, vine-hung ravine, it is a wild mountain gorge, walled withprecipitous cliffs of great height; and its river--every canyon has ariver--comes from a source at the top of the gorge in a series of madleaps, forming seven waterfalls, which plunge into circular basins ofrock, worn smooth by the action of the stream. These pools are curiouslyvarious in shape, and the color of the water, as it pauses a moment torest in each before taking its next plunge, is beautiful. Little plankwalks are laid along the river-side, and rude staircases for the steepestpitches. Up these the party went, leaving Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Hope farbehind,--Poppy with her habit over her arm, Clover stopping every othermoment to pick some new flower, Phil shying stones into the rapids as hepassed,--till the top of the topmost cascade was reached, and looking backthey could see the whole wonderful way by which they had climbed, and downwhich the river made its turbulent rush. Clover gathered a great mat ofgreen scarlet-berried vine like glorified cranberry, which Dr. Hope toldher was the famous kinnikinnick, and was just remarking on the coolwater-sounds which filled the place, when all of a sudden these soundsseemed to grow angry, the defile of precipices turned a frowning blue, andlooking up they saw a great thunder-cloud gathering overhead.
"We must run," cried Dr. Hope, and down they flew, racing at full speedalong the long flights of steps and the plank walks, which echoed to thesound of their flying feet. Far below they could see two fast-movingspecks which they guessed to be Mrs. Hope and Mrs. Watson, hurrying to aplace of shelter. Nearer and nearer came the storm, louder the growl ofthe thunder, and great hail-stones pattered on their heads before theygained the cabin; none too soon, for in another moment the cloud broke,and the air was full of a dizzy whirl of sleet and rain.
Others besides themselves had been surprised in the ravine, and every fewminutes another and another wet figure would come flying down the path, sothat the little refuge was soon full. The storm lasted half an hour, thenit scattered as rapidly as it had come, the sun broke out brilliantly, andthe drive home would have been delightful if it had not been for the sadfact that Mrs. Watson had left her parasol in the carriage, and it hadbeen wet, and somewhat stained by the india-rubber blanket which had beenthrown over it for protection. Her lamentations were pathetic.
"Jane Phillips gave it to me,--she was a Sampson, you know,--and Ithought ever so much of it. It was at Hovey's--We were there together, andI admired it; and she said, 'Mrs. Watson, you must let me--' Six dollarswas the price of it. That's a good deal for a parasol, you know, unlessit's really a nice one; but Hovey's things are always--I had the handleshortened a little just before I came away, too, so that it would go intomy trunk; it had to be mended anyhow, so that it seemed a good--Dear,dear! and now it's spoiled! What a pity I left it in the carriage! I shallknow better another time, but this climate is so different. It never rainsin this way at home. It takes a little while about it, and gives notice;and we say that there's going to be a northeaster, or that it looks like athunder-storm, and we put on our second-best clothes or we stay at home.It's a great deal nicer, I think."
"I am so sorry," said kind little Mrs. Hope. "Our storms out here do comeup very suddenly. I wish I had noticed that you had left your parasol.Well, Clover, you've had a chance now to see the doctor's beautifulColorado hail and thunder to perfection. How do you like them?"
"I like everything in Colorado, I believe," replied Clover, laughing. "Iwon't even except the hail."
"She's the girl for this part of the world," cried Dr. Hope, approvingly."She'd make a first-rate pioneer. We'll keep her out here, Mary, and neverlet her go home. She was born to live at the West."
"Was I? It seems queer then that I should have been born to live inBurnet."
"Oh, we'll change all that."
"I'm sure I don't see how."
"There are ways and means," oracularly.
Mrs. Watson was so cast down by the misadventure to her parasol that sheexpressed no regret at not being asked to join in the picnic next day,especially as she understood that it consisted of young people. Mrs. Hopevery rightly decided that a whole day out of doors, in a rough place,would give pain rather than pleasure to a person who was both so feebleand so fussy, and did not suggest her going. Clover and Phil waked upquite fresh and untired after a sound night's sleep. There seemed no limitto what might be done and enjoyed in that inexhaustibly renovating air.
Odin's Garden proved to be a wonderful assemblage of rocky shapes risingfrom the grass and flowers of a lonely little plain on the far side of themesa, four or five miles from St. Helen's. The name of the place cameprobably from something suggestive in the forms of the rocks, whichreminded Clover of pictures she had seen of Assyrian and Egyptian rockcarvings. There were lion shapes and bull shapes like the rudely chiselledgods of some heathen worship; there were slender, points and obelisksthree hundred feet high; and something suggesting a cat-faced deity, andqueer similitudes of crocodiles and apes,--all in the strange orange andred and pale yellow formations of the region. It was a wonderful ratherthan a beautiful place; but the day was spent very happily under thosemysterious stones, which, as the long afternoon shadows gathered over theplain, and the sky glowed with sunset crimson which seemed like areflection from the rocks themselves, became more mysterious still. Of themerry young party which made up the picnic, seven out of nine had come toColorado for health; but no one would have guessed it, they s
eemed so welland so full of the enjoyment of life. Altogether, it was a day to bemarked; not with a white stone,--that would not have seemed appropriate toColorado,--but with a red one. Clover, writing about it afterward toElsie, felt that her descriptions to sober stay-at-homes might easilysound overdrawn and exaggerated, and wound up her letter thus:--
"Perhaps you think that I am romancing; but I am not a bit. Every word I say is perfectly true, only I have not made the colors half bright or the things half beautiful enough. Colorado is the most beautiful place in the world. [N.B.--Clover had seen but a limited portion of the world so far.] I only wish you could all come out to observe for yourselves that I am not fibbing, though it sounds like it!"
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