Here amid the stately sunflowers, bathed in their celestial beauty, with the radiance of the sun deftly gathered and crystallized into crowns of glory, like hammered gold, the vexations of life and its trials were forgotten. The onlookers were lifted into a realm of ecstasy where songs without words abound. O gorgeous sunflower, incomparable in thy beauty, unequaled in thy queenliness, surpassing in thy stateliness, glorious in thy radiance, emblematic of freedom, liberty, and deathless love of justice! Indeed thou art the worthy emblem of a land of freedom, of a commonwealth asserting and establishing “man’s humanity to man.” The rose has its beauty and transcendent fragrance, the hyacinth its charm of color, the columbine its mountain freshness, the lily its stateliness of poise, the dandelion its golden warmth, the daisy its modesty, the honeysuckle its vining tendrils of love; but amid all the realm of the flowery kingdom, thou alone hast robbed the sun of his prismatic rays, and heaven hath crowned thee with a golden sceptre of everlasting superiority and imperishable majesty. “Oh, daddy,” exclaimed Ethel, “what a gorgeous forest of flowers. I feel lost in admiration. I am prouder than ever, daddy, indeed I am, of being an American girl and a daughter of Kansas, that has the beautiful sunflower for its emblem.” It was past noon when they dismounted for dinner at one of Mr. Horton’s ranch-houses on the banks of the river. They did not start on their return trip until late in the afternoon. When the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, they were still several miles down the valley from Horton’s Grove. Their road lay along the banks of the Manaroya, whose cool, purling waters talked incessantly in their flight. They had reined their horses into a walk. Ethel had become communicative, and, as she talked and laughed, her father was delighted; indeed, the cattle king was in a humor to be pleased with whatever Ethel might do or say. He told himself that the day had been a treat such as he had not enjoyed since Ethel went away to school. “Do you know, daddy,” said she, “that I am really glad Lord Avondale has gone.” Mr. Horton had not expected that his daughter would refer to the painful subject. “Well, Ethel,” said he, “I am glad to see that you are not cut up about it, although I expected you would be from what your mother said.” “Not a bit, daddy; I did not love him. Could you not see that I was unhappy? But it seemed that there was no escape. Don’t look so scared, daddy, or I won’t talk to you.” Her silvery laugh floated away on the soft night winds, and John Horton tried to disguise his surprise. “I don’t say, Ethel,” said he, “that it would not have been a great trial to me for you to have gone so far away. I thought it was your wish, however, and you know I am ready at all times to sacrifice all the beeves on the range to add to your happiness.”