It was a simple, healthful life, the happiest on the whole which they had
led since leaving home. Once or twice Mr. Thurber Wade made his
appearance, gallantly mounted, and freighted with flowers and kind
messages from his mother to Miss Carr; but Clover was never sorry when he
rode away again. Somehow he did not seem to belong to the Happy Valley, as
in her heart she denominated the place.
There was a remarkable deal of full moon that month, as it seemed; at
least, the fact served as an excuse for a good many late transits between
the valley and the park. Now and then either Clarence or Geoff would lead
over a saddle-horse and give Clover a good gallop up or down the valley,
which she always enjoyed. The habit which she had extemporized for her
visit to the High Valley answered very well, and Mrs. Hope had lent her a
hat.
On one of these occasions she and Clarence had ridden farther than usual,
quite down to the end of the pass, where the road dipped, and descended to
the little watering-place of Canyon Creek,--a Swiss-like village of hotels
and lodging-houses and shops for the sale of minerals and mineral waters,
set along the steep sides of a narrow green valley. They were chatting
gayly, and had just agreed that it was time to turn their horses' heads
homeward, when a sudden darkening made them aware that one of the
unexpected thunder-gusts peculiar to the region was upon them.
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