Part 17 (1/2)

”But there is so much of it! We must have come twenty miles from the railroad station.”

”More than that,” put in her brother, from his seat in the saddle.

”I don't care!” cried Bess. ”It's wonderful.”

”Oh, it is wonderful, I grant you,” said Grace. ”But--but everything is so big--and open--and lonesome.”

”Cheer up, Sis,” said Walter. ”We are all here to keep you company, to say nothing of the cows and the horses,” and he laughed.

Mrs. Janeway's opinion was practical to say the least, for her first words were, as the buckboard reached the house: ”I certainly shall be glad to get a bath.”

Rhoda had thrown herself from her pony and rushed up the steps of the veranda to greet two persons who, later, the visitors found were Mr. and Mrs. Hammond. The former was a rather heavily built, s.h.a.ggy-bearded man, his face burned to a brick-red and such part as the beard did not hide covered with fine lines like a veil. His wife was a tall and graceful woman who showed nothing in her clear, wide-open eyes of her blindness which for so many years had set her apart from other people.

The blind woman stepped with a.s.surance to the edge of the veranda to greet the visitors, and it was Mrs. Janeway she first met and embraced.

”Marian Janeway! How I wish I could see you, to know if you have really changed!” cried Mrs. Hammond in the heartiest and most cheerful voice imaginable. It was easy to see from whom Rhoda had got her voice.

”I've grown fat--I can tell you that,” sighed the Chicago woman.

”And you--why, you are still as graceful as you were when you were a girl.”

”Flatterer!” exclaimed Rhoda's mother, laughing. Then she seized upon Nan who chanced to come up the steps directly behind Mrs.

Janeway.

”Who is this?” she cried. ”Wait!” Her fingers ran quickly but lightly over Nan's countenance. She even felt her ears, and the hair where it fluffed over her brow, and traced the line of her well marked eyebrows. ”Why!” she added with decision, ”this is Nan Sherwood that I have heard so much about.”

”Oh, Mrs. Hammond,” gasped the girl, ”how did you know?”

She looked up into the s.h.i.+ning face of the blind woman and could scarcely believe that she was so afflicted. Mrs. Hammond's laugh was deep-throated and hearty, like Rhoda's own.

”I know you, my dear, because Rhoda has told me so much about you.

She has explained your character, I see, very truthfully. Your features bear out all she has said. You see, my dear, I am a witch!” and she kissed Nan warmly.

She welcomed the others with grace and that wide hospitality which is only found, perhaps, in the West and among people of the great outdoors. It arises from old times, when the wanderer, seeing a campfire, was sure of a welcome if he approached, and a welcome without questioning.

Mr. Hammond was equally glad to see the young folk. He spoke with a pleasant drawl, and aside from his gray hair and beard revealed few marks of age. His vigorous frame carried too much flesh, perhaps; but that was, he said, ”because he took it easy and let the boys run things to suit themselves.”

This last statement, however, Nan, who was observant, took with the proverbial pinch of salt. The expression of his countenance was kindly, but his character was firm and he spoke at times with a decision that made the servants, for instance, hurry to obey him.

He was, indeed, a very forceful man; but Nan Sherwood liked him immensely.

The rambling ranch house covered a deal of ground and was two stories high. The rooms were low-ceilinged, the upper rooms especially so. The girls who had come to visit Rhoda had a big, plainly furnished, airy room on the upper floor, beside Rhoda's own chamber. Walter had his choice of a bed or a hammock in a room across the hall. The adults of the household were disposed below, while the servants occupied quarters away from the main dwelling.

There was a water system which afforded plenty of baths, the clank of the pump being heard in a steady murmur from somewhere behind the house. It was too late, when they were freshened after the ride, for any exploration outside the house on this evening. All the visitors were ready for dinner when the Mexican waiter announced it.

The servants included a Chinese cook, Mexican houseboys, and negroes for the outside work. The life at Rose Ranch was evidently a rather free and easy existence. The standards of etiquette were not just the same as at the Mason house in Chicago; but the Hammonds knew well how to make their guests feel at home. The quality of the hospitality of the ranchman and his wife was not strained.

The party lingered long at dinner, under the glow of a hanging lamp that illuminated the table but left the corners and sides of the great room in shadow. Now and then somebody would lounge in at the doorway and speak to Mr. Hammond.

”Ah say, Boss, where'd you say Dan's outfit was goin'? I plumb forgot.”