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Page 59
"Not till you are tired of playing with dolls, I am afraid."
"Well, that will be never. If I thought I ever could be tired of Mabel, I
should be so ashamed of myself that I should not know what to do. You
oughtn't to say such things, Mamma; she might hear you, too, and have her
feelings hurt. And please don't call her _that_," said Amy, who had as
strong an objection to the word "doll" as mice are said to have to the
word "cat."
Next morning the dear home people proceeded on their way, and Clover fell
to work resolutely on her housekeeping, glad to keep busy, for she had a
little fear of being homesick for Katy. Every small odd and end that she
had brought with her from Burnet came into play now. The photographs were
pinned on the wall, the few books and ornaments took their places on the
extemporized shelves and on the table, which, thanks to Mrs. Hope, was no
longer bare, but hidden by a big square of red canton flannel. There was
almost always a little bunch of flowers from the Wade greenhouses, which
were supposed to come from Mrs. Wade; and altogether the effect was cosey,
and the little interior looked absolutely pretty, though the result was
attained by such very simple means.
Phil thought it heavenly to be by themselves and out of the reach of
strangers. Everything tasted delicious; all the arrangements pleased him;
never was boy so easily suited as he for those first few weeks at No. 13.
"You're awfully good to me, Clover," he said one night rather suddenly,
from the depths of his rocking-chair.
The remark was so little in Phil's line that it quite made her jump.
"Why, Phil, what made you say that?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking about it. We used to call Katy the
nicest, but you're just as good as she is. [This Clover justly considered
a tremendous compliment.] You always make a fellow feel like home, as
Geoff Templestowe says."
"Did Geoff say that?" with a warm sense of gladness at her heart. "How
nice of him! What made him say it?"
"Oh, I don't know; it was up in the canyon one day when we got to
talking," replied Phil. "There are no flies on you, he considers. I asked
him once if he didn't think Miss Chase pretty, and he said not half so
pretty as you were."
"Really! You seem to have been very confidential. And what is that about
flies? Phil, Phil, you really mustn't use such slang."
"I suppose it is slang; but it's an awfully nice expression anyway."
"But what _does_ it mean?"
"Oh, you must see just by the sound of it what it means,--that there's no
nonsense sticking out all over you like some of the girls. It's a great
compliment!"
"Is it? Well, I'm glad to know. But Mr. Templestowe never used such a
phrase, I'm sure."
"No, he didn't," admitted Phil; "but that's what he meant."
So the winter drew on,--the strange, beautiful Colorado winter,--with
weeks of golden sunshine broken by occasional storms of wind and sand, or
by skurries of snow which made the plains white for a few hours and then
vanished, leaving them dry and firm as before. The nights were often
cold,--so cold that comfortables and blankets seemed all too few, and
Clover roused with a shiver to think that presently it would be her duty
to get up and start the fires so that Phil might find a warm house when he
came downstairs. Then, before she knew it, fires would seem oppressive;
first one window and then another would be thrown up, and Phil would be
sitting on the piazza in the balmy sunshine as comfortable as on a June
morning at home. It was a wonderful climate; and as Clover wrote her
father, the winter was better even than the summer, and was certainly
doing Phil more good. He was able to spend hours every day in the open
air, walking, or riding Dr. Hope's horse, and improved steadily. Clover
felt very happy about him.
This early rising and fire-making were the hardest things she had to
encounter, though all the housekeeping proved more onerous than, in her
inexperience, she had expected it to be. After the first week or two,
however, she managed very well, and gradually learned the little
labor-saving ways which can only be learned by actual experiment. Getting
breakfast and tea she enjoyed, for they could be chiefly managed by the
use of the chafing-dish. Dinners were more difficult, till she hit on the
happy idea of having Mrs. Kenny roast a big piece of beef or mutton, or a
pair of fowls every Monday. These _pi�ces de r�sistance_ in their
different stages of hot, cold, and warmed over, carried them well along
through the week, and, supplemented with an occasional chop or steak,
served very well. Fairly good soups could be bought in tins, which needed
only to be seasoned and heated for use on table. Oysters were easily
procurable there, as everywhere in the West; good brown-bread and rolls
came from the bakery; and Clover developed a hitherto dormant talent for
cookery and the making of Graham gems, corn-dodgers, hoe-cakes baked on a
barrel head before the parlor fire, and wonderful little flaky biscuits
raised all in a minute with Royal Baking Powder.
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