parent with every day that followed.

As these days went on, bright, golden days, cloudless, and full of the
zest and snap of the nearing cold, Dorry grew stronger and stronger. So
well did he feel that after the first week or so he began to allude to
himself as quite recovered, and to show an ominous desire to get back to
his work; but this suggestion was promptly scouted by everybody,
especially by John, who said she had come for six weeks at least, and
six weeks at least she should stay,--and as much longer as she could;
and that Dorry as her escort _must_ stay too, no matter how well he
might feel.

"Besides," she argued, "there's all your life before you in which to dig
away at dynamos and things, and you may never be in Colorado again. You
wouldn't have the heart to disappoint Clover and Elsie and hurry back,
when there's no real necessity. They are so pleased to have a visit from
you."

"Oh, I'll stay! I'll certainly stay," said Dorry. "You shall have your
visit out, John; only, when a fellow feels as perfectly well as I do, it
seems ridiculous for him to be sitting round with his hands folded,
taking a mountain cure which he doesn't need."

Autumn is the busiest season for cattlemen everywhere, which made it the
more singular that Lionel Young should manage to find so much time for
sitting and riding with Johnnie, or taking her to walk up the steepest
and loneliest canyons. They were together in one way or another half the
day at least; and during the other half Johnnie's face wore always a
pre-occupied look, and was dreamily happy and silent. Even Clover began
to perceive that something unusual was in the air, something that seemed
a great deal too good to be true. She and Elsie held conferences in
private, during which they hugged each other, and whispered that "If!
whenever!--if ever!-- Papa would surely come out and live in the
Valley. He never could resist _three_ of his girls all at once." But
they resolved not to say one word to Johnnie, or even _look_ as if they
suspected anything, lest it should have a discouraging effect.

"It never does to poke your finger into a bird's nest," observed Elsie,
with a sapient shake of the head. "The eggs always addle if you do, or
the young birds refuse to hatch out; and of course in the case of
turtle-doves it would be all the more so. 'Lay low, Bre'r Fox,' and wait
for what happens. It all promises delightfully, only I don't see
exactly, supposing this ever comes