uch air. It sweeps all the dust and fatigue out of one in a
minute. Boston seems quite small and dull in comparison, doesn't it,
Roeslein?"

"It isn't so big, but I love it the most," replied that small person
from the front seat, where she sat soberly taking all things in.
"Mamma, Uncle Geoff says I may drive when we get to the foot of a long
hill we are just coming to. You won't be afraid, will you?"

"N-o; not if Uncle Geoff will keep his eye on the reins and stand ready
to seize them if the horses begin to run. Rose just expresses my
feelings," she continued; "but this is as beautiful as it is big. What
is the name of that enchanting mountain over there,--Cheyenne? Why,
yes,--that is the one that you used to write about in your letters when
you first came out, I remember. It never made much impression on
me,--mountains never seem high in letters, somehow, but now I don't
wonder. It's the loveliest thing I ever saw."

Clover was much pleased at Rose's appreciation of her favorite mountain,
and also with the intelligent way in which she noted everything they
passed. Her eyes were as quick as her tongue; chattering all the time,
she yet missed nothing of interest. The poppy-strewn plain, the green
levels of the mesa delighted her; so did the wide stretches of blue
distance, and she screamed with joy at the orange and red pinnacles in
Odin's Garden.

"It is a land of wonders," she declared. "When I think how all my life I
have been content to amble across the Common, and down Winter Street to
Hovey's, and now and then by way of adventure take the car to the Back
Bay, and that I felt all the while as if I were getting the cream and
pick of everything, I am astonished at my own stupidity. Rose, are you
not glad I did not let you catch whooping cough from Margaret Lyon? you
were bent on doing it, you remember. If I had given you your way we
should not be here now."

Rose only smiled in reply. She was used to her little mother's vagaries
and treated them in general with an indulgent inattention.

The sun was quite gone from the ravines, but still lingered on the
snow-powdered peaks above, when the carriage climbed the last steep
zigzag and drew up before the "Hut," whose upper windows glinted with
the waning light. Rose looked about her and drew a long breath of
surprise and pleasure.

"It isn't a bit like what I thought it would be," she said; "but it's
heaps and heaps more beautiful. I simply put it at the head of