“I beg your pardon,” he said; “but aren’t you—­isn’t it—­Clover Carr?”

“Yes,” said Clover, wondering, but still without the least notion as to whom the stranger might be.

“You’ve forgotten me?” went on the young man, with a smile which made his face very bright.  “That’s rather hard too; for I knew you at once.  I suppose I’m a good deal changed, though, and perhaps I shouldn’t have made you out except for your eyes; they’re just the same.  Why, Clover, I’m your cousin, Clarence Page!”

“Clarence Page!” cried Clover, joyfully; “not really!  Why, Clarence, I never should have known you in the world, and I can’t think how you came to know me.  I was only fourteen when I saw you last, and you were quite a little boy.  What good luck that we should meet, and on our first day too!  Some one wrote that you were in Colorado, but I had no idea that you lived at St. Helen’s.”

“I don’t; not much.  I’m living on a ranch out that way,” jerking his elbow toward the northwest, “but I ride in often to get the mail.  Have you just come?  You said the first day.”

“Yes; we only got here this morning.  And this is my brother Phil.  Don’t you recollect how I used to tell you about him at Ashburn?”

“I should think you did,” shaking hands cordially; “she used to talk about you all the time, so that I felt intimately acquainted with all the family.  Well, I call this first rate luck.  It’s two years since I saw any one from home.”

“Home?”

“Well; the East, you know.  It all seems like home when you’re out here.  And I mean any one that I know, of course.  People from the East come out all the while.  They are as thick as bumblebees at St. Helen’s, but they don’t amount to much unless you know them.  Have you seen anything of mother and Lilly since they got back from Europe, Clover?”

“No, indeed.  I haven’t seen them since we left Hillsover.  Katy has, though.  She met them in Nice when she was there, and they sent her a wedding present.  You knew that she was married, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I got her cards.  Pa sent them.  He writes oftener than the others do; and he came out once and stayed a month on the ranch with me.  That was while mother was in Europe.  Where are you stopping?  The Shoshone, I suppose.”

“No, at a quieter place,—­Mrs. Marsh’s, on the same street.”

“Oh, I know Mother Marsh.  I went there when I first came out, and had caught the mountain fever, and she was ever so kind to me.  I’m glad you are there.  She’s a nice woman.”

“How far away is your ranch?”

“About sixteen miles.  Oh, I say, Clover, you and Phil must come out and stay with us sometime this summer.  We’ll have a round-up for you if you will.”

“What is a ‘round-up’ and who is ’us’?” said Clover, smiling.

“Well, a round-up is a kind of general muster of the stock.  All the animals are driven in and counted, and the young ones branded.  It’s pretty exciting sometimes, I can tell you, for the cattle get wild, and it’s all we can do to manage them.  You should see some of our boys ride; it’s splendid, and there’s one half-breed that’s the best hand with the lasso I ever saw.  Phil will like it, I know.  And ‘us’ is me and my partner.”