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Page 61
So May came to St. Helen's in due course, of time. The sand-storms and the
snow-storms were things of the past, the tawny yellow of the plains began
to flush with green, and every day the sun grew more warm and beautiful.
Phil seemed perfectly well and sound now; their occupancy of No. 13 was
drawing to a close; and Clover, as she reflected that Colorado would soon
be a thing of the past, and must be left behind, was sensible of a little
sinking of the heart even though she and Phil were going home.
CHAPTER XI.
THE LAST OF THE CLOVER-LEAVES.
Last days are very apt to be hard days. As the time drew near for quitting
No. 13, Clover was conscious of a growing reluctance.
"I wonder why it is that I mind it so much?" she asked herself. "Phil has
got well here, to be sure; that would be enough of itself to make me fond
of the place, and we have had a happy winter in this little house. But
still, papa, Elsie, John,--it seems very queer that I am not gladder to go
back to them. I can't account for it. It isn't natural, and it seems wrong
in me."
It was a rainy afternoon in which Clover made these reflections. Phil,
weary of being shut indoors, had donned ulster and overshoes, and gone up
to make a call on Mrs. Hope. Clover was quite alone in the house, as she
sat with her mending-basket beside the fireplace, in which was burning the
last but three of the pi�on logs,--Geoff Templestowe's Christmas present.
"They will just last us out," reflected Clover; "what a comfort they have
been! I would like to carry the very last of them home with me, and keep
it to look at; but I suppose it would be silly."
She looked about the little room. Nothing as yet had been moved or
disturbed, though the next week would bring their term of occupancy to a
close.
"This is a good evening to begin to take things down and pack them," she
thought. "No one is likely to come in, and Phil is away."
She rose from her chair, moved restlessly to and fro, and at last leaned
forward and unpinned a corner of one of the photographs on the wall. She
stood for a moment irresolutely with the pin in her fingers, then she
jammed it determinedly back into the photograph again, and returned to
her sewing. I almost think there were tears in her eyes.
"No," she said half aloud, "I won't spoil it yet. We'll have one more
pleasant night with everything just as it is, and then I'll go to work and
pull all to pieces at once. It's the easiest way."
Just then a foot sounded on the steps, and a knock was heard. Clover
opened the door, and gave an exclamation of pleasure. It was Geoffrey
Templestowe, splashed and wet from a muddy ride down the pass, but wearing
a very bright face.
"How nice and unexpected this is!" was Clover's greeting. "It is such a
bad day that I didn't suppose you or Clarence could possibly get in. Come
to the fire and warm yourself. Is he here too?"
"No; he is out at the ranch. I came in to meet a man on business; but it
seems there's a wash-out somewhere between here and Santa F�, and my man
telegraphs that he can't get through till to-morrow noon."
"So you will spend the night in town."
"Yes. I took Marigold to the stable, and spoke to Mrs. Marsh about a room,
and then I walked up to see you and Phil. How is he, by the way?"
"Quite well. I never saw him so strong or so jolly. Papa will hardly
believe his eyes when we get back. He has gone up to the Hopes, but will
be in presently. You'll stay and take tea with us, of course."
"Thanks, if you will have me; I was hoping to be asked."
"Oh, we're only too glad to have you. Our time here is getting so short
that we want to make the very most of all our friends; and by good luck
there is a can of oysters in the house, so I can give you something hot."
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