A Summer in a Canyon | Page 9

And then a patient, hardy little mustang lopes along the street, bearing on his back three laughing boys, one behind the other, on a morning ride into town from the mesa.
The mist had floated away from the old mission now, the sun has climbed a little higher, and Bell has come away from the window in a gentle mood.
'Oh, Polly, I don't see how anybody can be wicked in such a beautiful, beautiful world.'
'Humph!' said Polly, dipping her curly head deep into the water-bowl, and coming up looking like a little drowned kitten. 'When you want to be hateful, you don't stop to think whether you're looking at a cactus or a rosebush, do you?'
'Very true,' sighed Bell, quite silenced by this practical illustration. 'Now I'll try the effect of the landscape on my temper by dressing Dicky, while he dances about the room and plays with his tan terrier.'
But it happened that Dicky was on his very best behaviour, and stood as still as a signpost while being dressed. It is true he ate a couple of matches and tumbled down-stairs twice before breakfast, so that after that hurried meal Bell tied him to one of the verandah posts, that he might not commit any act vicious enough to keep them at home. As he had a huge pocket full of apricots he was in perfect good-humour, not taking his confinement at all to heart, inasmuch as it commanded a full view of the scene of action. His amiability was further increased, moreover, by the possession of a bright new policeman's whistle, which was carefully tied to his button-hole by a neat little silk cord, and which his fond parents intended that he should blow if he chanced to fall into danger during his rambles about the camp. We might as well state here, however, that this precaution proved fruitless, for he blew it at all times and seasons; and everybody became so hardened to its melodious shriek that they paid no attention to it whatever,--history, or fable, thus again repeating itself.
Mr. and Mrs. Noble had driven Margery and Phil into town from the fruit ranch, and were waiting to see the party off.
Mrs. Oliver was to live in the Winship house during the absence of the family, and was aiding them to do those numberless little things that are always found undone at the last moment. She had given her impetuous daughter a dozen fond embraces, smothering in each a gentle warning, and stood now with Mrs. Winship at the gate, watching the three girls, who had gone on to bid Elsie good-bye.
'I hope Pauline won't give you any trouble,' she said. 'She is so apt to be too impulsive and thoughtless.'
'I shall enjoy her,' said sweet Aunt Truth, with that bright, cordial smile of hers that was like a blessing. 'She has a very loving heart, and is easily led. How pretty the girls look, and how different they are! Polly is like a thistledown or a firefly, Margery like one of our home Mayflowers, and I can't help thinking my Bell like a sunbeam.'
The girls did look very pretty; for their mothers had fashioned their camping-dresses with much care and taste, taking great pains to make them picturesque and appropriate to their summer life 'under the greenwood tree.'
Over a plain full skirt of heavy crimson serge Bell wore a hunting jacket and drapery of dark leaf-green, like a bit of forest against a sunset. Her hair, which fell in a waving mass of burnished brightness to her waist, was caught by a silver arrow, and crowned by a wide soft hat of crimson felt encircled with a bird's breast.
Margery wore a soft grey flannel, the colour of a dove's throat, adorned with rows upon rows of silver braid and sparkling silver buttons; while her big grey hat had nothing but a silver cord and tassel tied round it in Spanish fashion.
Polly was all in sailor blue, with a distractingly natty little double-breasted coat and great white rolling collar. Her hat swung in her hand, as usual, showing her boyish head of sunny auburn curls, and she carried on a neat chatelaine a silver cup and little clasp- knife, as was the custom in the party.
'It's very difficult,' Polly often exclaimed, 'to get a dress that will tone down your hair and a hat that will tone up your nose, when the first is red and the last a snub! My nose is the root of all evil; it makes people think I'm saucy before I say a word; and as for my hair, they think I must be peppery, no matter if I were really as meek as Moses. Now there's Margery, the dear, darling mouse! People look at her two sleek braids, every hair doing