Colours of every hue: masses of wild hyacinths, pale lavender in shade, thousands of yellow flowers varying from a faint tint to a deep orange: blue, pink, red, purple flowers, any you will, and amongst them delicate white ones of many lovely designs. And the splendid poppy flaming and flashing in the sunlight, and the rich indigo larkspur, and the vetches and lupins and the lilies--how can one tell of them all, and how can one describe the gladness and gratitude and wonder which their presence calls forth? And then in cañons and timbered hiding-places, known only to those who pry and probe, many a curious and lovely flower. And as the weeks go on, fresh treasures, revealing themselves in place of those which have passed out of sight: glorious monster poppies of crinkled white satin, and yellow hairy mariposa lilies, just like luscious yellow butterflies. Vines and creepers trailing on the ground, and festooning shrubs and rocks; sweet scents wafted now from here and now from there, and now mingling together in fragrant accord. And all these wonders tenfold more wonderful because of that burnt and dried-up soil from which nothing beautiful seemed possible. But stay! The summer is here once more. The foothills are brown again: the slopes and plains where the grain has been grown and cut, have chosen for themselves the colour of old gold plush. Brown and old gold: surely a charming combination. Is it that familiar scenes take on an ever-increasing beauty? Is it that the more intently we look, all the more surely do we see fresh loveliness; just as when gazing into the heavens at eventide, first one star reveals itself to us, and then another? Or is it that we know spring will come indeed, bringing those treasures which enchanted us? CHAPTER VIII ROBERT TAKES HEART So every day the country put on fresh beauties, and Robert was a little comforted to see that Hilda took pleasure in watching the quick growth and marking the constant change in the scenery. “When the wild-flowers are at their best,” he said, “you will begin to think that Southern California is a beautiful land after all. That foot-hill yonder will be aglow with orange-coloured poppies, and those other slopes over there across the river will be covered with brightest mustard. I admire the mustard more than anything.”