“But these are grand old mountains around us, and I daresay one gets accustomed to the bareness.” “Oh, yes,” he answered, “and in time one almost learns to think it beautiful.” “Beautiful, no,” she replied decidedly, “but perhaps tolerable.” “Every day,” he said, almost pleadingly, “you will see a difference in the scenery. If we have some more rain, as we shall do shortly, you will see the green springing up everywhere. The most dried-up-looking corner will suddenly become jewelled with wild-flowers. In about three weeks’ time that little hill yonder above our ranch will be covered with scented yellow lilies. Down in the valley you will find green enough to satisfy the hungriest eye, and up on the mountains where you must go on horseback, the brushwood is coming on splendidly, and all sorts of lovely flowers and shrubs are springing up. And there you will have a grand view of the surrounding mountains, and the Pacific. You will even feel the sea-breeze, and at times you will hear the sound of the waves.” He paused for a moment, and Hilda said brightly: “I shall enjoy the riding immensely. Can I begin soon?” “At once,” he answered proudly again. “Come and make friends with Bessie, and see the side-saddle which I bought for you the other day. It’s a Mexican one, and I think it is the safest for this country.” He had taken thought for her in every way, and she could not but notice it and be grateful for it; and as the days went on, she grew more conscious of the evidences of his kindness, and all the more anxious to do her part conscientiously. She threw herself into work to which she had been totally unaccustomed all her life, and for which she had no liking; but because she had a strong will and a satisfaction in doing everything well, she made astonishing progress, illustrating the truth sometimes disputed by ungenerous critics, that a good groundwork of culture and education helps and does not hinder one in the practical and unpoetical things of life.