sperides
Vale. "This," said Bailey, turning from the town, "is the Alameda. They
motor from Wenatchee and beyond to try it. It's a pretty good road, but in
a year or two, when these shade trees come into full leaf, it will be
something to show."

There were tufts on most of them now and on the young fruit trees that ran
in geometrical designs on either side, covering the levels that last year
had been overgrown with sage. As these infant orchards dropped behind and
the Wenatchee range loomed near, Cerberus detached from the other peaks;
but it was no longer a tawny monster on guard; its contour was broken by
many terraces, luxuriant with alfalfa and planted with trees.

"Why," exclaimed Mrs. Weatherbee, "there is the gap. Then, this must be
the mountain--it reminded me once of a terrible, crouching, wild beast--
but it has changed."

"Yes, ma'am," responded Banks, "she's looking tamer now. The peaches have
taken right hold, and those fillers of strawberries are hurrying on the
green. But you give 'em three years or maybe four, and take 'em in blossom
time,--my, you won't know this old mountain then."

A drive, cross-cutting the bold front, led to the level beneath the
summit, where rose the white walls and green gables of Annabel's home, but
they rounded the mountain into the smaller vale. "This," said the mayor,
with culminating pride, "is Weatherbee Orchards. It shows what money, in
the right hands, can do."

A soft breeze came down over the ridge as they ascended; the flume, that
followed the contour of the roadway, gurgled pleasantly. Everywhere along
the spillways alfalfa spread thriftily, or strawberry plants sent out new
tendrils. All growing things were more advanced in that walled pocket than
in the outer vale; the arid gulf had become a vast greenhouse. Cerberus no
longer menaced. Even the habitation of the goat-woman, that had been the
central distraction of the melancholy picture, was obliterated. In all
that charming landscape there was no discordant note to break the harmony.

The car doubled the curve at the top of the bench and ran smoothly between
breadths of green lawn, bordered by nodding narcissus, towards the house,
which was long and low, with a tiled roof and cream-colored walls that
enclosed a patio. A silence fell over the company. As they alighted, every
one waited, looking expectantly at Beatriz Weatherbee. The music of a
fountain fluted from the court, and she went forward, listening. He