I never shall want to be in mine except
when I am dressing or asleep. I shall sit here with you all the time; and
isn't it lovely that we have those enchanting mountains just before our
eyes? I never saw anything in my life that I liked so much as I do that
one."
It was Cheyenne Mountain at which she pointed, the last of the chain, and
set a little apart, as it were, from the others. There is as much
difference between mountains as between people, as mountain-lovers know,
and like people they present characters and individualities of their own.
The noble lines of Mount Cheyenne are full of a strange dignity; but it is
dignity mixed with an indefinable charm. The canyons nestle about its
base, as children at a parent's knee; its cedar forests clothe it like
drapery; it lifts its head to the dawn and the sunset; and the sun seems
to love it best of all, and lies longer on it than on the other peaks.
Clover did not analyze her impressions, but she fell in love with it at
first sight, and loved it better and better all the time that she stayed
at St. Helen's. "Dr. Hope and Mount Cheyenne were our first friends in the
place," she used to say in after-days.
"How nice it is to be by ourselves!" said Phil, as he lay comfortably on
the sofa watching Clover unpack. "I get so tired of being all the time
with people. Dear me! the room looks quite homelike already."
Clover had spread a pretty towel over the bare table, laid some books and
her writing-case upon it, and was now pinning up a photograph over the
mantel-piece.
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