da flouts me," he said. "Doesn't baby like papa a bit? Ah,
well, he is going to cry, then."

He buried his face in his napkin and sobbed ostentatiously. Phillida,
not at all impressed, tugged bravely at the corner of the handkerchief;
but when the sobs continued and grew louder, she began to look troubled,
and leaning forward suddenly, threw her arms round her father's neck and
laid her rose-leaf lips on his forehead. He caught her up rapturously
and tossed her high in air, kissing her every time she came down.

"You angel! you little angel! you little dear!" he cried, with a
positive dew of pleasure in his eyes. "Elsie, what have we ever done to
deserve such a darling?"

"I really don't know what you have done," remarked Elsie, coolly; "but I
have done a good deal. I always was meritorious in my way, and deserve
the best that is going, even Phillida. She is none too good for me. Come
back, baby, to your exemplary parent."

She rose to recapture the child; but Clarence threw a strong arm about
her, still holding Phillida on his shoulder, and the three went waltzing
merrily down the room, the little one from her perch accenting the dance
time with a series of small shouts. Little Geoff looked up soberly, with
his mouth full of raspberries, and remarked, "Aunty, I didn't ever know
that people danced at breakfast."

"No more did I," said Elsie, trying in vain to get away from her
pirouetting husband.

"No more does any one outside this extraordinary valley of ours,"
laughed Geoff. "Now, partner, if you have finished your fandango, allow
me to remind you that there are a hundred and forty head of cattle
waiting to be branded in the upper valley, and that Manuel is to meet us
there at ten o'clock."

"And we have the breakfast things to wash, and a whole world to do at
the Youngs'," declared Elsie, releasing herself with a final twirl.
"Now, Clare dear, order Marigold and Summer-Savory, please, to be
brought down in half an hour, and tell old Jose that we want him to help
and scrub. No, young man, not another turn. These sports are unseemly on
such a busy day as this. 'Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not
suspect my years?' as the immortal W. would say. I am twenty-five,--nearly
twenty-six,--and am not to be whisked about thus."

Everybody went everywhere on horseback in the High Valley, and the
gingham riding-skirts and wide-brimmed hats hung always on the antlers,
ready to hand, beside water-proofs and top