men were busy with a pile of trunks and
bags. "They'll come along after us. Mr. Tim is on his horse, of course.
We'll let him show us the way. Now stow yourselves comfortably," he
admonished his guests. "You know we have an eighteen-mile ride ahead of
us!"

CHAPTER VI

CORDELIA SEES A COWBOY

Through the broad, dusty streets, by the straggling houses, and out on
to the boundless sea of grass trailed the carriage and the ranch wagons,
with Mr. Tim in the lead.

Five pairs of eyes grew wide with wonder and awe.

"I didn't suppose anything in the world could be so--so far," breathed
Cordelia, who was with Mr. Hartley on the front seat of the carriage.

"No wonder Genevieve was always talking about 'space, wide, wide
space,'" cried Bertha. "Why, it's just like the ocean--only more so,
because there aren't any waves."

"As if anything could be more like the ocean than the ocean itself,"
giggled Tilly.

Mr. Hartley laughed good-naturedly.

"Never mind, Miss Bertha," he nodded. "Just you wait till there's a
little more wind, and you'll see some waves, I reckon. It's mighty still
just now; and yet--there, look! Over there to the right--see?"

They all looked, and they all saw. They saw far in the distance the
green change to gray, and the gray to faint purple, and back again to
green, while curious shifting lights and shadows glancing across the
waving blades of grass, made them ripple like water in the sunlight. At
the same time, from somewhere, came a soft, cool wind.

"Why, it is--it is just like the ocean," exulted Cordelia. "I've seen it
look like that down to Nantasket, 'way, 'way off at sea."

"I told you 'twas," triumphed Bertha.

"Well, anyway," observed Tilly, demurely, "they must be awfully dry
waves--not much fun to jump!"

"Tilly, how can you?" protested Cordelia. "How you do take the poetry
out of anything! I believe you'd take the poetry out of--of Shakespeare
himself!"

"Pooh! Never saw much in him to take out," shrugged Tilly.

"Tilly!" gasped Cordelia.

"Tilly can't see poetry in anything that doesn't jingle like 'If you
love me as I love you, no knife can cut our love in two,'" chanted
Bertha.

"My dears!" remonstrated Mrs. Kennedy, feebly.

Tilly turned with swift pacification.

"Don't you worry, Mrs. Kennedy. I'm used to it. They can't trouble me
any!"

It was Mr. Hartley who broke the silence that followed.

"Well, Miss Cordelia," he asked laughingly, "what is the matt