"They do have it late," I thought.

Suddenly Ide exclaimed, "My, how thirsty I am!" and she got up.

"Oh, joy," I said to myself.

"I guess I'll go and get a drink of water from the mineral spring," she went on; and then catching my yearning eye she asked if I would like to go too.

When your whole soul is sighing for tea, cold water does seem a poor subst.i.tute, but I began to lose hope now, so I followed her. The water--which we got at a spring in the deep gra.s.s, and drank out of a tin dipper, was deliciously cold, more refreshing than iced water, and didn't make you thirstier than ever again, in half a second. Still, I couldn't tear my thoughts from tea, and when we got back to the house I was encouraged to find that Mrs. Trowbridge and Patty had disappeared.

"I must go and help them get tea," said Ide, "if you'll excuse me."

I said "of course," with alacrity, and hoped soon to see a tray coming out into the verandah, where it was so cool and breezy now. Half an hour pa.s.sed, however, and nothing happened. It was getting on towards six o'clock, and a smell of frying floated to us from the kitchen.

"I suppose they're beginning to cook something that takes a long time to do, for dinner--or supper, rather," I thought. "She _said_ they were getting tea, so----"

"Tea's ready, good people, if you're ready for it," announced Mrs.

Trowbridge's gentle voice at the door.

Mr. Trowbridge and Mr. Brett got up, and I did too, disappointed that we weren't to have it out of doors; but still, I reminded myself, the sitting room would be nice and cool. But I found that we were being led through to the dining room.

There was the long table laid out again, with a regular sit-down meal; cream cheese, and cake, and blackberries, and a big plate of honey; some curious kind of smoked meat cut very thin, and the potatoes which I'd smelled frying.

"What an odd tea!" I thought. But the oddest part was that after all there _wasn't_ any tea.

We sat down, and at the far end of the table were two young men, all soapy and sleek, their hair very wet and their sleeves (with no cuffs showing) very short. We were introduced to each other, and they bowed rather awkwardly without saying anything, but I couldn't understand their names. One of the two never spoke, and ate with his knife until he saw me looking, when he stopped and got red. After that he cut up everything on his plate quite small before he ate it, and stuck out his elbows. The other, who sat next to Ide, talked to her in a low voice, but I caught the words "picnic," and "beaux," and they both giggled a great deal.

Instead of tea, those who liked had black coffee with thick cream, and the others drank what I should call lemon-squash, but they all spoke of it as lemonade.

It wasn't much past six when we finished, and soon Mr. Brett asked me how I would like to walk over to Mrs. Randal's and see my friend Miss Woodburn, since she couldn't come to me. The place was less than a mile away by short cuts which he knew, and he would take me there.

The shadows were beginning to grow long and thin when we started, though the sun was still bright, so I carried a sunshade, and went hatless, American fashion.

To avoid going out in the road we took field paths and skirted along the edge of meadows where grain was tall and golden, or white as a summer snowstorm. There were no proper stiles, as with us, so whenever we came to one of the rough fences which divided one field from another I had to mount on the first or second bar, and let Mr. Brett lift me over.

He is so strong that he did it as if I were a bundle of down instead of a tall girl, and I had much the same exhilarating sensation I used to have as a wee thing when I rode wildly on Mohunsleigh's foot. I was glad when we came to the fences, and that there were a good many of them. But I wasn't at all glad when Mr. Brett jumped me over into a gra.s.s meadow where there was a whole drove of ferocious-looking black and white cattle.

"_Couldn't_ we go some other way round?" I asked, longing to get behind him, but ashamed for him to see what an idiot I am about cows, and perhaps make him lose his good opinion of me as a reasonably brave girl.

"I'm afraid not, unless we turn back," said he. "But you needn't mind them. Remember, you're with an old 'cow puncher.'"

"Oh, were you one, too?" I asked trying to seem at ease.

"Too?"

"I was thinking of a friend of my cousin Mohunsleigh's whom he was always talking about, a Mr. Harborough, who lives in San Francisco.

Mohunsleigh knew him abroad somewhere. _He_ used to be a 'cow puncher,'--whatever that is--in Texas, I believe, though now he's a millionaire. Did you ever hear of him?"

"Yes," said Mr. Brett, in rather a dry way.

"I was so disappointed not to meet him."

(As we walked on, I kept my eyes on the horrible animals who were grazing at some distance.)

"Why?" he asked the question almost sharply.

"Because my cousin says he's such a glorious person."

"Well gilded, anyhow."

"Oh, I don't mean on that account. I'm rather blase of millionaires lately. But from Mohunsleigh's accounts he must be--well, the sort of a man we like."

"We?"

"Girls. Brave and adventurous, and reckless, and that sort of thing."

"I'm afraid his millions are more of an attraction to most girls."

"Why, you're as bad as he!" I exclaimed.

"In what way?"

"Unjust, and--almost morbid. I wouldn't have thought _you_ would be like that, though perhaps one can't blame him so much, if he's had bad experiences. I _am_ sorry for him. It must be miserable to fancy always that people care for you for your money."

"I'm sorry for him, too. At least, I used to be--whenever I thought of him."

"Aren't you now?"

"No. I believe he's a changed man. He's found that there are exceptions to the gloomy rule he'd laid down for humanity."

"Oh, then he's happier."

"So far as I understand the case, he isn't exactly happy yet. He isn't out of the woods. In fact, he's in the thickest part. But he sees blue sky and the sun shining overhead."

"What do you mean?"

"A fellow who knows him very well told me that Harborough had fallen in love with a beautiful girl who was so unworldly that she might be induced to marry for love--if she cared."

"Then why isn't he happy?"

"Because he doesn't know whether she can ever care for him--except as a friend. He's sure she likes him pretty well, but there's nothing in that. I'm mighty ignorant about such things myself, but they say if a girl doesn't mind showing that she's your friend, and values you in a way, it's a sign she's a thousand miles off from falling in love with you. What's your opinion on the subject--as you seem to be rather interested in Harborough?"

"My goodness, Mr. Brett, there's a cow looking at us. Oh, what _shall_ we do? It's the worst cow of all. It's putting its head down now. It doesn't like us. Oh, what an appalling beast. I believe it must be a bull."

"It's a very young one," said he, calmly. "Now, don't be frightened.

This is going to be nothing at all."

"Are you _sure_?"