It was a merry meal.  The pleasant look of the room, the little surprises, and the refreshment of seeing new and kindly faces, raised Mr. Templestowe’s spirits, and warmed him out of his reserve.  He grew cheerful and friendly.  Clarence was in uproarious spirits, and Phil even worse.  It seemed as if the air of the High Valley had got into his head.

Dr. Hope left at noon, after making a second visit to the lame herder, and Mrs. Hope and Clover settled themselves for a week of enjoyment.  They were alone for hours every day, while their young hosts were off on the ranch, and they devoted part of this time to various useful and decorative arts.  They took all manner of liberties, poked about and rummaged, mended, sponged, assorted, and felt themselves completely mistresses of the situation.  A note to Marian Chase brought up a big parcel by stage to the Ute Valley, four miles away, from which it was fetched over by a cow-boy on horseback; and Clover worked away busily at scrim curtains for the windows, while Mrs. Hope shaped a slip cover of gay chintz for the shabbiest of the armchairs, hemmed a great square of gold-colored canton flannel for the bare, unsightly table, and made a bright red pincushion apiece for the bachelor quarters.  The sitting-room took on quite a new aspect, and every added touch gave immense satisfaction to “the boys,” as Mrs. Hope called them, who thoroughly enjoyed the effect of these ministrations, though they had not the least idea how to produce it themselves.

Creature comforts were not forgotten.  The two ladies amused themselves with experiments in cookery.  The herders brought a basket of wild raspberries, and Clover turned them into jam for winter use.  Clarence gloated over the little white pots, and was never tired of counting them.  They looked so like New England, he declared, that he felt as if he must get a girl at once, and go and walk in the graveyard,—­a pastime which he remembered as universal in his native town.  Various cakes and puddings appeared to attest the industry of the housekeepers; and on the only wet evening, when a wild thunder-gust was sweeping down the valley, they had a wonderful candy-pull, and made enough to give all the cow-boys a treat.

It must not be supposed that all their time went in these domestic pursuits.  No, indeed.  Mrs. Hope had brought her own side-saddle, and had borrowed one for Clover; the place was full of horses, and not a day passed without a long ride up or down the valley, and into the charming little side canyons which opened from it.  A spirited broncho, named Sorrel, had been made over to Phil’s use for the time of his stay, and he was never out of the saddle when he could help it, except to eat and sleep.  He shared in the herders’ wild gallops after stock, and though Clover felt nervous about the risks he ran, whenever she took time to think them over, he was so very happy that she had not the heart to interfere or check his pleasure.