Meantime, while this scene was getting itself enacted in the superintendent's office, a mild fire of consternation was alight in the gathering room of the Rosemary. As we have guessed, Winton's packet of mail was not the only one which was delivered by special arrangement that morning to the incoming Limited at the yard registering station. There had been another, addressed to Mr. Somerville Darrah; and when he had opened it there had been a volcanic explosion and a hurried dash for the telegraph office, as recorded. Sifted out by the Reverend Billy, and explained by him to Mrs. Carteret and Bessie, the firing spark of the explosion appeared to be some news of an untoward character from a place vaguely designated as “the front.” “It seems that there is some sort of a right-of-way scrimmage going on up in the mountains between our road and the Utah Short Line,” said the young man. “It was carried into the courts, and now it turns out that the decision has gone against us.” “How perfectly horrid!” said Miss Bessie. “Now I suppose we shall have to stay here indefinitely while Uncle Somerville does things.” And placid Mrs. Carteret added plaintively: “It's too bad! I think they might let him have one little vacation in peace.” “Who talks of peace?” queried Virginia, driven in from her post of vantage on the observation platform by the smoke from the switching-engine. “Didn't I see Uncle Somerville charging across to the telegraph office with war written out large in every line of him?” “I am afraid you did,” affirmed the Reverend Billy; and thereupon the explanation was rehearsed for Virginia's benefit. The brown eyes flashed militant sympathy. “Oh, I wish Uncle Somerville would go to 'the front,' wherever that is, and take us along!” she cried. “It would be ever so much better than California.” The Reverend William laughed; and Aunt Martha put in her word of expostulation, as in duty bound. “Why, my dear Virginia--the idea! You don't know in the least what you are talking about. I have been reading in the papers about these right-of-way troubles, and they are perfectly terrible. One report said they were arming the laboring men, and another said the militia might have to be called out.” “Well, what of it?” said Virginia, with all the hardihood of youth and unknowledge. “It's something like a burning building: one doesn't want to be hard-hearted and rejoice over other people's misfortunes; but then, if it has to burn, one would like to be there to see.” Miss Bessie put a stray lock of the flaxen hair up under its proper comb. “I'm sure I prefer California and the orange-groves and peace,” she asserted. “Don't you, Cousin Billy?” What Mr. Calvert would have replied is no matter for this history, since at this precise moment the Rajah came in, “coruscating,” as Virginia put it, from his late encounter with the superintendent's chief clerk.