our "canopy-top surrey" and holding
restless ramping Black Dolly to her place, he was too busy to glance at
us, but I could tell, by the set of his head, that he was emotionally
intense.

"There's your new father," I said, pointing him out to Zulime, "and that
is your family coach."

Father couldn't even shake hands, for Dolly was still pawing and
plunging but he smiled as we approached and called out in reference to
Dolly, "She'll quiet down in a minute."

While the train was pulling out I explained to Zulime that Dolly's fury
was all assumed, "She'll soon be stolid as a stump."

It wasn't in the least the tender meeting I had expected to enjoy, but
when at last my father was able to reach his hand down to Zulime, he
said, "I'm glad to meet you, my daughter," and the tenderness in his
vibrant voice touched me. "We were afraid you weren't coming," he added,
and a little later I saw him wipe the tears from his eyes. The fact that
he used a bandanna for this purpose, did not destroy the moving quality
of his emotion.

The village looked woefully drab and desolate under that misty November
sky. The elm trees, stripped of every leaf, the gardens weedy, ragged
and forlorn, together with the ugly little houses suggested the sordid
reality of the life to which I had brought my bride. It was all a far
cry from the towering cliffs and colorful canons of Colorado.

The Homestead shared in the general ugliness of that rain-swept dawn.
Its maples were gaunt skeletons, its garden a sodden field over which
the chickens were wandering in sad and aimless fashion. To my city-bred
wife this home-coming must have been a cruel shock, but it was the best
I could do, and whatever the girl felt, she concealed with a smile,
resolute to make the best of me and mine.

Mother was waiting for us on the porch, tremulous with excitement, too
eager to remain in doors, and as I took her in my arms, and kissed her,
I said, "Mother, I've brought your new daughter."

For just a moment she hesitated (the grace and dignity of the tall girl
awed her, confused her), then Zulime went to her, and the two women, so
diverse, yet so dear to me, met in an embrace of mutual love and
confidence.

Isabel Garland entered into possession of the daughter she had so long
hoped for, and Zulime Taft became a member of the household of which
Richard Garland was the head.

Breakfast was waiting for us, a noble meal, a sumptuous wedding
breakfast, for mother and