Part 7 (2/2)
CHAPTER V.
ARRIVAL.
THE train from Denver was nearing St. Helen's,--and Imogen Young looked eagerly from the window for a first sight of the place. Their journey had been exhaustingly hot during its last stages, the alkaline dust most trying, and they had had a brief experience of a sand-storm on the plains, which gave her a new idea as to what wind and grit can accomplish in the way of discomfort. She was very tired, and quite disposed to be critical and unenthusiastic; still she had been compelled to admit that the run down from Denver lay over an interesting country.
The town on its plateau was s.h.i.+ning in full suns.h.i.+ne, as it had done when Clover landed there six years before, but its outlines had greatly changed with the increase of buildings. The mountain range opposite was darkly blue from the shadows of a heavy thunder gust which was slowly rolling away southward. The plains between were of tawny yellow, but the belts of mesa above showed the richest green, except where the lines of alfalfa and grain were broken by white patches of mentzelia and poppies.
It was wonderfully beautiful, but the town itself looked so much larger than Imogen had expected that she exclaimed with surprise:--
”Why, Lion, it's a city! You said you were bringing me out to live in the wilderness. What made you tell such stories? It looks bigger than Bideford.”
”It looks larger than it did when I came away,” replied her brother.
”Two, three, six,--eight fine new houses on Monument Avenue, by Jove, and any number off there toward the north. You've no idea how these Western places sprout and thrive, Moggy. This isn't twenty years old yet.”
”I can't believe it. You are imposing on me. And why on earth did you let me bring out all those pins and things? There seem to be any number of shops.”
”I let you! Oh, I say, that is good! Why, Moggy, don't you remember how I remonstrated straight through your packing. Never a bit would you listen to me, and here is the result,” pulling out a baggage memorandum as he spoke, and reading aloud in a lugubrious tone, ”Extra weight of trunks, thirteen dollars, fifty-two cents.”
”Thirteen fifty,” cried Imogen with a gasp. ”My gracious! why, that's nearly three pounds! Lion! Lion! you ought to have _made_ me listen.”
”I'm sure I did all I could in that way. But cheer up! You'll want your pins yet. You mustn't confound this place with High Valley. That's sixteen miles off and hasn't a shop.”
The discussion was brought to end by the stopping of the train. In another moment Geoff Templestowe appeared at the door.
”Hallo, Lion! glad to see you. Imogen,” shaking hands warmly, ”how are you? Welcome to Colorado. I'm afraid you've had a bad journey in this heat.”
”It _has_ been beastly. Poor Moggy's dead beat, I'm afraid. Neither of us could sleep a wink last night for the dust and sand. Well, it's all well that ends well. We'll cool her off in the valley. How is everything going on there? Mrs. Templestowe all right, and Mrs. Page, and the children? I declare,” stretching himself, ”it's a blessing to get a breath of good air again. There's nothing in the world that can compare with Colorado.”
A light carryall was waiting near the station, whose top was little more than a fringed awning. Into this Geoffrey helped Imogen, and proceeded to settle her wraps and bags in various seat boxes and pockets with which the carriage was cleverly fitted up. It was truly a carry-all and came and went continually between the valley and St. Helen's.
”Now,” he remarked as he stuffed in the last parcel, ”we will just stop long enough to get the mail and some iced tea, which I ordered as I came down, and then be off. You'll find a cold chicken in that basket, Lion. Clover was sure you'd need something, and there's no time for a regular meal if we are to get in before dark.”
”Iced tea! what a queer idea!” said Imogen.
”I forgot that you were not used to it. We drink it a great deal here in summer. Would you rather have some hot? I didn't fancy that you would care for it, the day is so warm; but we'll wait and have it made, if you prefer.”
”Oh, no. I won't delay you,” said Imogen, rather grudgingly. She was disposed to resent the iced tea as an American innovation, but when she tried it she found herself, to her own surprise, liking it very much.
”Only, why do they call it tea,” she meditated. ”It's a great deal more like punch--all lemon and things.” But she had to own that it was wonderfully refres.h.i.+ng.
The sun was blazing on the plain; but after they began to wind up the pa.s.s a cool, strong wind blew in their faces and the day seemed suddenly delightful. The unfamiliar flowers and shrubs, the strange rock forms and colors, the occasional mountain glimpses, interested Imogen so much that for a time she forgot her fatigue. Then an irresistible drowsiness seized her; the talk going on between Geoffrey Templestowe and her brother, about cows and feed and the prospect of the autumn sales, became an indistinguishable hum, and she went off into a series of sleeps broken by brief wakings, when the carryall b.u.mped, or swayed heavily from side to side on the steep inclines. From one of the soundest of these naps she was roused by her brother shaking her arm and calling,--
”Moggy, wake, wake up! We are here.”
With a sharp thump of heart-beat she started into full consciousness to find the horses drawing up before a deep vine-hung porch, on which stood a group of figures which seemed to her confused senses a large party.
There was Elsie in a fresh white dress with pale green ribbons, Clarence Page, Phil Carr, little Philippa in her nurse's arms, small Geoff with his two collies at his side, and foremost of all, ready to help her down, hospitable little Clover, in lilac muslin, with a rose in her belt and a face of welcome.
”How the Americans do love dress!” was Imogen's instant thought,--an ungracious one, and quite unwarranted by the circ.u.mstances. Clover and Elsie kept themselves neat and pretty from habit and instinct, but the muslin gowns were neither new nor fas.h.i.+onable, they had only the merit of being fresh and becoming to their wearers.
”You poor child, how tired you must be!” cried Clover, as she a.s.sisted Imogen out of the carriage. ”This is my sister, Mrs. Page. Please take her directly to her room, Elsie, while I order up some hot water. She'll be glad of that first of all. Lion, I won't take time to welcome you now. The boys must care for you while I see after your sister.”
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