While she was dressing “Peter Pan” had gone to view the wonderful boat which Bess had told her of, and soon came hurrying back with the entreaty to “let’s try it again—please.” “The water is too cold for you, dearie—and besides, I am tired from my long voyage, you see. Come, we will go down by the water and wait until the hunters come back, and I’ll tell you stories of ships—and seas—and everything, ’neverything else.” [Illustration: COPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR BY J. R. WHITE SUNSET ON FLATHEAD LAKE] Sitting side by side with a warm blanket about them, they watched the sunset. The mountains were tipped in varying hues of purple and lavender. Streams of glowing reds and yellows burned at their bases like huge fairy fires. The clouds were delicate tints of pink and coral upon the softer white and grey. The tiny ripples over the broad expanse of water were an ever-changing kaleidoscope,—first a tender, blue sapphire, then an immense emerald, now an opal with its evasive colors beautifully blended. Soon the sun, like a great ball of rusted brass, slid down behind the mighty hills, leaving but the glowing embers of a smoldering day. Softly the vermillion changed into lavender, deepened into purple and fell into charred umber. All the western sky was but a blackened, cheerless grate, and another day vanished into ashes and oblivion. “Was it not beautiful?” said the little watcher, as she looked into the soft, brown eyes of her companion. “Don’t you feel glad that you live here where everything is so beautiful?” “Yes, dearie—I want to stay here—here—near the mountains, always!” And the child brushed away Bess’ tears, wondering why she should cry. Oh! the reluctance with which good-byes were said the next morning as camp was broken up and all departed for home. Plans for next year were already projected and promises half made to come again. But who could know where all would be when again the autumn leaf should fall and the whir of wings should call? CHAPTER XXIV WHY A CHEEK BLANCHES Mrs. West had been watching the road for nearly an hour, each moment expecting Bess to come. The man had started after the girl early in the morning, and she was impatient for their arrival. At last her anxiety was relieved as she caught a glimpse of Mauchacho hurrying toward home. She clasped the girl in a loving embrace and told her how long the time had been and how lonely she had felt. “I am never going to let you go away again, my dear; I cannot be happy without you!” “I’m going—to—to—a—be married next month!” came like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Bess slowly continued to draw off her riding gloves, then to unfasten her sombrero, and flung them upon the steps where she stood. She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face, glancing at the same time at the “little Mother,” whose silence became alarming. The woman’s face grew white, and her eyes dimmed by a thin film.