"Why, it is--it is just like the ocean," exulted Cordelia. "I've seen it look like that down to Nantasket, 'way, 'way off at sea." "I told you 'twas," triumphed Bertha. "Well, anyway," observed Tilly, demurely, "they must be awfully dry waves--not much fun to jump!" "Tilly, how can you?" protested Cordelia. "How you do take the poetry out of anything! I believe you'd take the poetry out of--of Shakespeare himself!" "Pooh! Never saw much in him to take out," shrugged Tilly. "Tilly!" gasped Cordelia. "Tilly can't see poetry in anything that doesn't jingle like 'If you love me as I love you, no knife can cut our love in two,'" chanted Bertha. "My dears!" remonstrated Mrs. Kennedy, feebly. Tilly turned with swift pacification. "Don't you worry, Mrs. Kennedy. I'm used to it. They can't trouble me any!" It was Mr. Hartley who broke the silence that followed. "Well, Miss Cordelia," he asked laughingly, "what is the matter? You've been peering in all directions, and you look as if you hadn't found what you were hunting for. You weren't expecting to find soda fountains and candy stores on the prairie, were you?" Cordelia smiled and shook her head. "Of course not, Mr. Hartley! I was looking for the blue bonnets--the flowers, you know. Genevieve said they grew wild all through the prairie grass." "And so they do--specially, early in the spring, my dear. I wish you could see them, then." "I wish I could--Genevieve has told me so much about them. She says they're the state flower. I thought they had such a funny name; I wanted to pick one, if I could. She says they're lovely, too." "They are, indeed, and I wish you could see them when they are at their best," rejoined Mr. Hartley; then he turned to Bertha, who had been listening with evident interest. "In the spring it's a blue ocean, Miss Bertha--I wish you could see the wind sweep across it then! And I wish you could smell it, too," he added with a laugh. "I reckon you wouldn't think it much like your salty, fishy east wind," he finished, twinkling. "Oh, but we just love that salty, fishy east wind, every time we go near the shore," retorted a chorus of loyal Eastern voices; and Mr. Hartley laughed again. In the ranch wagon behind them, Genevieve was doing the honors of the prairie right royally. Here, there, and everywhere she was pointing out something of interest. In the ranch wagon, too, the marvelous hush and charm of limitless distance had wrought its own spell; and all had fallen silent. It was Alma Lane who broke the pause. "What are all those deep, narrow paths, such a lot of them, running parallel to the wheel tracks?" she asked curiously. "I've been watching them ever since we left Bolo. They are on both sides, too." "They're made by the cattle," answered Genevieve; "such a lot of them, you know, traveling single file on their way to Bolo. Bolo is a 'cow town'--that is, they ship cattle to market from there."