Those were busy days which followed—days all too short for the years of labor that loomed so drearily before the pioneers; but they set to work bravely, plowing, building, and planning, and the manifold cares of their new, strange life left no time for repining over the events of the past, or even to investigate the nature of that strange visitant which had so startled them with its fleeting appearance.

Although a hurried search was made near the Old Corral, no trace of the lost treasure could be discovered; and whenever the subject was mentioned, or the hope expressed of the ultimate recovery of the princely treasure, the colonel would discourage it as delusive and visionary, and would say that the surest way to recover the lost fortune was to extract the gold from the soil through the medium of the plow and an application of good "horse sense" to their farming.

Several masons were employed from the nearest town, forty miles distant, and, after tearing down the walls of the Old Corral, the stone was utilized in building, first, a dwelling for Colonel Warlow in the grove in the river's bend; next, a cottage for Clifford on the site of the old stronghold, which had been entirely obliterated, save that portion which had fallen over Colonel Warlow years ago, and which had so providentially shielded him from death. The entire party had decided that it should remain as a monument of the past, and accordingly the stones which had been hurled down by the drunken fury of the Indians, were replaced carefully; so the wall now appeared as it did a quarter of a century before, on the night of that terrible tragedy.

Squire Moreland and his son Ralph also built, from the same confused stone-heap, comfortable dwellings a mile down the valley, but situated on the opposite side of the river from the Warlows; and, as all of the buildings were located near natural timber, they presented a very home-like appearance when completed.

But during all the while the plows were kept busily turning the fertile valley sod, which was planted in corn and millet, thus providing feed for the stock the ensuing winter.

Yet it must not be supposed by the reader that incessant toil alone occupied the time of the settlers, to the exclusion of all pleasure; for many were the pleasant fishing parties and excursions to the Sand Hills, far off to the north-west, where the delicious sand-plums crimsoned the low shrubs which clothed the hills, relieving, on these occasions, their life of monotony.

An occasional antelope-hunt on the Flats to the south was indulged in by the sporting members of the colony, varied by the excitement of a wolf-chase or the sight of a stray buffalo.

Then the ceaseless tide of travel on the Santa Fe Trail, thronging with settlers bound for the rich prairies to the south, was in itself a link to the past and an endless source of interest to the colonists.

One of the first moves of the Warlow and Moreland families was to organize a school district, a proceeding which is never omitted by the first settler of the western prairies, who, the very day he "files," begins planning more or less secretly, to secure the location of a school-house on his "claim."

So, according to pioneer traditions, the district was organized, consisting of a territory ten miles square, and a meeting was called at the house of Colonel Warlow, at which assemblage of the settlers it was decided "to vote bonds to build a school-house immediately."

All the voters present agreed, with perfect unanimity, that "bonding" was the only feasible method of accomplishing the object which they had in view; but when it came to specifying the time for which the bonds were to run, or, in other words, were to mature, then a stormy scene ensued, and with varying degrees of eloquence the subject was hotly discussed by the local orators.

It was proposed by one embryo politician—whose speeches were said by Robbie to be longer than his furrows—"that the bonds be made payable in one year," in which event the entire amount would have to be met by a direct tax on all the assessible property in the district; and as the lands of the settlers would not be subject to taxation for the period of the next five years, the burden would fall upon the railroad land, which constituted one-half of all the territory embraced within the limits of the district; and the aforementioned "political economist" proceeded to demonstrate to his hearers the beauty and fitness (?) of making a company of friendly capitalists, who lived, as he averred, over in New England, not only pay the two thousand dollars which was to build their school-house, but, in addition to this, be taxed to maintain the school for the next five years; and he closed his brilliant peroration by asserting "that his policy was to make all bloated bondholders and corporation scamps squeal when he had the chaince."

The squire and colonel both opposed the measure, the latter replying in a speech of some length, in which he vigorously attacked the principles advocated by the "chaince orator" saying that it would be both immoral and unwise to take such a rascally advantage of a company that were doing so much to help the State and develop its resources. Then he warned his hearers of the consequences of so unjust a course, telling them plainly it was little better than highway robbery, and the railroad company would retaliate by raising the rates of shipping, whereby all would suffer alike.

But his appeal was disregarded by the rampant majority, and, although he pleaded with the audience to make the bonds payable in thirty years, which, he said, was but equitable, the motion to make the bonds payable in one year was sustained, and one ardent supporter of that iniquitous measure, a man in a coon-skin cap, was heard to remark, as he mounted his mule, which had one crank leg:—

"Good enough fur them railroad fellers; they just haint got no business a-comin' out hyur with their bulljine a-spilin' of our freightin'."

Although the free discussion at the meeting led to a feeling of animosity, the work of building was begun and rapidly pushed forward to completion, soon as the bonds which had been voted for the purpose could be disposed of to those same "bloated bondholders" of the East, and by the middle of August, the large stone school-house, with a bell-tower and rose window, crowned a knoll just across the river from the Old Corral.

THE GRASSHOPPER RAID.

A short time after the day on which the new school-house had been dedicated by a public dinner, in which all the colonists participated, a peculiar haziness was noticed in the air, and, on looking up at the sun, swarms of gauzy-winged insects were seen floating southward on the light breeze; but they were too high for Clifford and Rob—who stood in the barn-yard wondering what they were—to conjecture the terrible import of the phenomenon.

Thicker and more dense became the haze, now almost obscuring the sun, or again thinning out to a silvery mist, which quickly changed to fleecy clouds again, drifting overhead like the scud of a summer storm.

Mrs. Warlow, who stood on the latticed balcony that ran along the eastern front of the dwelling, and on which there opened glass doors, instead of windows, from the long range of dormer gables in the upper story of that picturesque homestead, was looking out to the north, and as she saw a dark, strange cloud quickly rising, she called to the boys to come in at once as a storm was almost upon them.

As the boys glanced out towards the north-west they could see the unnatural, black cloud stretching across the northern horizon, but momentarily growing nearer, like a dense shadow on a summer landscape.

Their father, who had been reading on the porch, laid aside his paper on hearing the unusual commotion, and stepped out in the yard.

"What can it be?" said Clifford anxiously.

"A dust-storm, probably," replied the colonel, as the weather had been dry and parching hot for several weeks past.

On came the threatening cloud, filling the air from the earth to an incredible height, and a low muffled roar grew louder every moment; then, as the startled family sought the shelter of the dwelling, a seething mass of insects filled the air.

"Grasshoppers! grasshoppers!" cried Rob, dancing about in wild excitement.

"Locusts!" exclaimed the colonel in great consternation; but even then no one but himself realized the terrible disaster and wide-spread ruin which their visit portended; but as he said, gravely, that they were the dreaded locusts or grasshoppers which often laid waste whole nations of Spanish-America, devouring every vestige of the growing crops of those countries and in one day leaving the land like a desert, then the meaning of the appalling calamity slowly dawned upon them.

It was truly an awe-inspiring scene that met their sight, as they stood by the wide windows and looked out on the storm of insect life that raged by, darkening the sun itself as they swarmed along in countless billions.

One who sees the feeble "hopper" spring aside from his path through the Eastern meadows can but dimly comprehend the terrible sight—the cubic miles of winged pests that rush by with a hurtling roar, filling the air all that day like the drifting snow-flakes, through which the sunlight dimly glimmered, or rolling by like the rack of some fierce storm.

As the dew-drop that glints quivering in the morning may be a thing of beauty, but when multiplied by the waters of old ocean becomes grand and imposing, so it was with this feeble insect when re-enforced by his multitudinous kinsmen; and when our friends saw his hordes darkening the sun, and earth and sky swarming with his hosts, they realized, as Clifford said, "that neither corn nor cotton, but 'hopper,' was king," and thenceforth that once reviled insect was held in great respect, though still regarded as an unmitigated nuisance by all the members of our colony.

Next morning every tree, shrub, and building was covered by the insects in huge, dark masses, which flew up in disgusting swarms as the settlers walked along, and the fields of sod-corn were soon stripped clear of every ear and blade by the winged pests, and all the vegetables, also, fell victims to their rapacious appetites—save, perhaps, the warty old radishes, that stood bravely up in the ruined garden, rejoicing in their "strength." The woolly stems of the millet, likewise, defied their insatiable appetites.

The grasshoppers hung about until late in the fall, as if loath to leave such hospitable friends; and when it became apparent that the pests were depositing their eggs in the ground, honey-combing the roads, fields, and banks of the streams with their cells, then the outlook became truly discouraging; for it was known that the young brood, which the next summer's sun would hatch out, would work greater havoc and ruin than that which the settler had just witnessed,—all of which disheartening prospects only served still more to weaken the vertebræ of those settlers not endowed by nature with spines like an oak-tree.

Accordingly, near the end of September, this faint-hearted class inaugurated an hegira back to the Land of the Mother-in-law, and by their haste it was to be inferred that the much-maligned lady of story and song had changed her traditional spots, and now stood waiting to receive them with open hand, on the digital members of which no longer were visible the "claws" of malicious metaphor.

The long caravan, as it wended its eastward course, was headed by the "chaince" orator, and the coon-skin cap and crank-legged mule, of "bulljine" memory, guarded the rear of the retreating host.

It appeared as if the exodus of the settlers was regarded as a signal of departure by the grasshoppers also; for one fine morning they rose up in darkening swarms and departed to the south-west.

The Warlow and Moreland families, who had preferred to remain when their more faint-hearted neighbors left, now proceeded to sow their fields in wheat and rye, and the autumn rains and warm sunshine soon clothed the fields with a rank growth of the cereals, which, with the millet, prairie-hay, and the pasture the wheat-fields afforded, served to keep their stock in good condition during the mild winter that followed.

Our friends devoted the early winter to building stone barns and corrals, or pens for the stock, and so busy, indeed, were the energetic settlers that they could scarcely realize that March was with them again; but the way in which that wayward jade proceeded to demonstrate the fact left no doubt in the minds of those who tried to withstand her windy arguments. Although the weather was very dry, the wheat and rye fields were green and rank; but when April passed, and had neglected to shed the customary tears over the frolics of her wayward younger sister, and the drouth still continued, even the stoical colonel became alarmed and fearful for the future.

To add to the gloom of the outlook, the warm sunshine had so operated as an incubator that the earth fairly squirmed with the newly hatched brood of young grasshoppers; and as May came on still warm and dry, and the young pests began their dread ravages on the tender young vegetables and fields of grain, then grim famine, with all its horrors, stared the settlers in the face.

But on May 16th, a change was noticed in the atmosphere. The barometer denoted a rain; and as Rob limped about, he said that he could feel a storm in his bones; but Clifford thought that was owing to his tight boots.

A north-east wind began to blow, cold and chilly, and a mist wrapped the earth in its foggy folds until all the hills grew faint and dim; then a fine, drizzling rain followed, which before noon merged into a perfect deluge, and the rivulets as they poured down from the highlands, mingled their gurgling songs with the river's low bass, raging and roaring over its rocky bed, all making sweet music to the ear of the anxious colonist.

The Warlow homestead stood, as I have heretofore explained, in a grove that grew in the river's bend; and as the house was situated on low ground, some apprehension was felt by the family lest the river should reach the dwelling; and as the barn was on still lower ground, on the bank of the stream, it was suggested that the stock should be taken to the upland pasture; a field that was inclosed with a fence of barbed wire, and connected with the barn-yard by a lane.

Accordingly, Clifford and Rob drove the horses and mules, with the cattle, up to the pasture, and after closing the gate started on their return through the pouring rain; but when they reached the margin of what was, but an hour before, a shallow, grass-bedded brook, babbling away through the meadow, they found now a wide glassy stream, to wade which they knew was impossible; so divesting themselves of their superfluous clothing, they tied their boots up in bundles to throw across.

Clifford's budget landed safely; but Rob was not so fortunate, he having undershot the mark, and he cried:—

"There go my Sundiest boots!"

At the rueful outcry, Clifford turned, just in time to see the bobbing bundle disappear in the muddy water.

The boys swam over safely (but Robbie's bundle was not recovered until several days had elapsed, but then found to be sadly water-logged), and as poor Rob stood shivering in the rain, Clifford gave him his overcoat.

"Oh, a fellow only needs a pair of sandals and a plantain-leaf to keep off the dew in this dry region," said Rob, as he buttoned the welcome garment around him.

The boys, after changing their wet garments when they reached home, went down into the parlor where Maud sat, twanging her guitar and singing:—

But Rob interrupted, and with an air of tragedy, sang:—

Then, his mother coming in, he proceeded to tell about their "cruise," and the sad fate of his bundle.

"Oh, you might have been drowned in that horrid stream!" said Maud, dropping her guitar in consternation.

"About the only way a fellow can escape such a fate out-doors to-day is to jump into the river," said Clifford, in high good-humor. "Talk about the 'dry belt,'" he continued; "I hope that geographical girdle will soon prove all too short to span this western 'waste.'"

The colonel, who had just come in, said with an anxious face:—

"I am afraid the only dry belt left by morning will be the upstairs, unless this flood ceases soon."

At this announcement Mrs. Warlow and Maud flew into a panic, saying they would all be drowned; to which gloomy predictions the colonel and Clifford replied with arguments to the effect that the house being of stone would resist any flood, and all that was necessary to insure their safety, would be to retire to the upper story of the dwelling in case the water rose into the house; and the feminine portion of the household was soon reassured, and busied themselves preparing an early supper, while the stronger members of the family were busy carrying the furniture up to that place of refuge.

The books, pictures, carpets, and other "household goods," were soon beyond danger; but the old rosewood piano was a load which nearly defied their united efforts, though it, too, was successfully drawn up the stairway with the aid of block and tackle, and finally the store of provisions—a very slender store indeed—was carried to the upper rooms.

After the hasty supper, Clifford and Bob went to the stream, lantern in hand, to take a survey of the situation. They found the river lacked now but a foot of reaching the upper bank, and as it was still raining in torrents they realized the gravity of their position.

It was a strange, weird sight—the sullen, roaring stream; but yesterday a silvery chain, scarce linking the shallow pools where pebbles and shells had shown in the clear, quiet depths—now a mad, dark river, boiling and swirling along in the red glare of the light.

When they had returned to the dwelling and reported the situation, the colonel looked very grave, and they began to canvass the prospect of a retreat. There was Clifford's dwelling, they remembered, at the Old Corral, situated high and dry; but to reach it they would have to cross a stream that was a foaming torrent, and the wild, swift river on the south completely cut them off from retreat in that direction; while away to the north stretched the limitless prairie, with not a habitation for more than a score of miles to shelter them from the cold and driving rain.

But when they thought of the wide valley and the vast quantity of water necessary to raise one foot after the river left its banks, they dismissed the thought of danger, and retired to rest.

The rain now poured down with greater fury than ever; the wind lashed the roof with the limbs of the old elm that drooped over the chimneys and gables of the dwelling; and the groaning and creaking added a gruesome feeling to the drowsiness which the plashing rain-drops caused to steal over the inmates of that danger-threatened household.

"It makes me think of spectres and shrieking ghosts," said Robbie, as he drew the cover up closer, and cuddled down by Clifford.

"Yes; it recalls the lines of 'Tam O'Shanter,'" replied his older brother, repeating a verse from that masterpiece of Burns:—

"If the Old Gent ventures from his fireside to-night, he'll get his tail wet," said Rob; then rolling over, the lad was soon in the "land of Nod."

But Clifford lay for hours listening to the hoarse roar of wind, river, trees, and pelting rain; but finally he was lulled to sleep, though even in slumber he was weighed down and haunted by a sense of danger; and when the clock chimed the hour of twelve he arose, and stole down the stairs. As he reached the next to the last step his foot plashed in the water. He knew at once that the river was now out over all the wide valley, and had risen in a stealthy flow, invading the house, where it was at least two feet deep.

Watching the water by the light which he had returned and procured, he saw it was rising in an alarming manner; so he hastily dressed himself and went to the window, and opening the sash, which was all in one piece and hung on hinges, he looked out on the glaring, boiling flood below. As he stood thus, looking down on the terrible, raging whirlpool, he was rapidly revolving in his mind plans of escape from their perilous position; but every avenue of retreat seemed closed. As he cast his eyes about in despair, he started joyfully at the thought of the "Crows' Nest" up in the great elm—a place which could be reached by a flight of steps springing from the window ledge and leading far up into the forks of the tree.

Smiling at the fact that he had not thought of it before, he sprang up the stairs into the fanciful retreat, which Robbie in his boyish fancy had planned and built in the top of the lofty tree, and which, on warm, sultry days, had proved to be an aerial lounging-place as comfortable as it was novel. It was a stout platform about eight feet square, railed about, and provided with seats, hammocks, and even a rocking-chair. It was with a feeling of relief that Clifford stood on the floor of the lofty perch and glanced down at the glare of water.

Springing down the steps, which were also safely railed, he went to the mark which he had made on the wall and found the water had risen a full step, and, knowing there was no time to lose, he ran to the bed and awakened Robbie, telling him of the situation, and in a few minutes that resolute young chap was dressed and ready to lend a willing hand in the plan which Clifford unfolded.

Taking a wagon-cover from one of the stow-aways which flanked the room, and a piece of scantling from the same catch-all, the boys cut the ropes from the wagon-sheet, and after tying the scantling securely to the limbs above the platform, at a distance of six or seven feet overhead, they next drew the canvas, tent-fashion, over it, then brought the ends down in such a manner that the rain was excluded from the "Nest," and tacking the sheet to the floor and making a flap for the doorway, the interior was quite impervious to the rain, which still raged without.

Some blankets were next carried up and spread on the floor, and then two beds were made hastily, and the busy fellows did not omit the pillows and sheets; so the place wore a very cozy appearance. Then, when all was complete, they awakened their parents and Maud, telling them of the safe retreat into which they would be compelled to remove.

In a few moments they were all safely up in the "Nest," and then the provisions and a few valuables were carried thither, Rob cautioning them not to forget a jug of water. Then the boys went down to the hall stairway and found that the water lacked but two feet of reaching the upper floor.

Alarmed and in great suspense, Clifford stood watching the flood, and was relieved to see that the water crept more slowly up the stair; then Robbie, coming up, said that the rain was about over and the stars were twinkling through the rifts above.

As the boys gazed at the water; a faint wet line became visible on the wall just above the flood. Breathless with suspense, they watched until the band widened; then Clifford shouted in wild excitement, "Falling—falling!"

"She's falling, falling!" shrieked Rob as he flew up to the "Nest" with the joyful news.

Yes; it was a blissful fact that the water was subsiding, and, that too, at a rate which soon promised relief from the danger which had threatened them with total ruin.

Clifford, ever thoughtful of the comfort of others, now built a fire in the warming stove which stood in his room, and proceeded to make coffee for the weary and chilly party that still remained up in their "Nest;" and as the young man remembered Rob's caution regarding the water-jug, he hastily tied a rope to a bucket, and reaching over the window-ledge, soon secured a supply of the necessary fluid. A steaming hot cup of the fragrant beverage was declared by the nestlings to be "prime and delicious" in the extreme.

Warmed and refreshed now, the family looked out upon the strange scene which began to emerge in the dawning light. The valley was submerged from hill to hill; but they could see the cattle patiently grazing on the highlands, and the poultry on the accustomed trees were roosting serenely, far above the danger-line.

The surrounding country was quite rolling, and the stream headed among the hills on the west, only a few miles distant; so after the rain ceased, the flood subsided as rapidly as it had risen—a peculiarity of all Western streams.

The family watched the water subside until all the old land-marks were once more visible. The fields were still covered in shallow water; but soon the wild river shrank back into its narrow channel once again.

There had been great anxiety felt for the safety of the Moreland family, although it was known that their dwelling was situated on higher ground than the Warlow house; yet no sign of life was visible at the homestead of their neighbor, and when a loud halloo was heard from Ralph Moreland, who had ridden over to the top of one of the hills which shouldered down to the opposite side of the river, a glad cry in response was raised from the inmates of the "Nest."

It was amusing to see the bewildered way in which he peered over, trying to discover their whereabouts; and when he finally discovered the aerial family, he eagerly asked after their welfare.

When he learned of their safety, he laughed in a relieved and hearty way at their "elevated station in life."

In answer to their inquiries regarding his father's family, he said that the water had not reached the dwelling; but he was too uneasy thinking of their danger to wait longer than daylight to ride over, and, although he did not mention the fact, they saw that his horse was wet to the saddle-bow, and knew that he had swam a dangerous side-stream to gain the hill.

Maud begged him not to return until the water subsided, and she kept shouting their experience across the river, while the equally noisy youth replied in tones like a fog-horn.

Mrs. Warlow and the colonel had now descended to the "lower regions," as Clifford termed the first story of the dwelling, where he and Rob were removing a mountain of mud from the floor, and their mother soon prepared a breakfast which those hungry youths pronounced a royal banquet.

But Maud still carried on her loud flirtation from the tree-top in tones which, Rob said, "could be heard in the next county," and the way she managed, with her lengthened description of their experience, to detain Ralph until all danger of high water on his return had passed, showed she felt a greater interest in the rider than in the high-toned subject.

After he had at length ridden away, Maud descended to the rooms below, where her mother was, saying that "this inundation would be long remembered, and would become legendary and traditional."

"Yes," replied Clifford, gravely, "Rob and I will carry the memory of the event down to our 'remotest ancestors.'"

"Oh, I daresay it will lose nothing in the way of variations in the transmission," said Maud; "but here, you superior being, bring me a pail of water;" and Clifford marched off obediently to the muddy well.

"Why, madam," cried Rob, mockingly, as he scraped the mud from the floor, "have you regained your voice? I was afraid it was utterly lost;" and he giggled at the thought of how her tones had wandered away over the prairie.

"More scrubbing and less sarcasm, young man!" she replied, with a blush, as she vigorously attacked the wall, which was stained by the water, or frescoed with mud and slime; but as the plastering was of hard coat, it soon regained its wonted purity under the drenching which was administered by the energetic and busy workers, and long before night-fall the usual neatness and order reigned in the Warlow household.

The young brood of grasshoppers had all been swept away in the flood, or perished in the long, cold storm. Pious Mrs. Warlow said, "The hand of the Lord is revealed in freeing the land of those pests;" and indeed it appeared the work of Providence, which had so effectually destroyed them that no further trace was visible of the scourge which only a brief day before had threatened both the Missouri and Arkansas valleys with famine and desolation.

The weather, that for the past year had played the fickle jade, now tried to atone for her folly, and often would she burst into tears of remorse, and veil her face in summer clouds, at remembrance of the wild tantrums which had marred her equinoctial history.

In the propitious rain and sunshine which followed, the fields of grain emerged from their coat of rich sediment, and the lush, dank growth of the cereals ripened into great level fields of waving grain, the bronze and golden wheat and silvery sheen of barley and oats contrasting happily with the long rows of corn and emerald millet.

How often it is thus, that misfortune, on reaching a climax of superlative disaster, then assumes the form of diminutive comparison!

The migratory settlers, that had been sojourning in the Land of the Mother-in-law, now returned, re-enforced by cousins to a remote degree, and on their tattered old wagon-covers, on which had glared in letters of blue, black, and red, the legend "Kansas or BusT," and which on their subsequent flitting had been partially erased and the assertion "buStud by—" printed instead, now there glared the dauntless assertion, "kansiss is the bEsT lAnd unDur the suNn."

One delightful day in June the Warlow and Moreland families, or the younger members of those households, attended a picnic which was held in a grove on the river seven miles below the Old Corral.

At an early hour Clifford, Maud, and Robbie drove down in their three-seated carriage, drawn by Clifford's iron grays, and at Squire Moreland's the party was re-enforced by Ralph, Grace, and Scott. Baskets and fishing-lines were stowed away under the seats, and the frying-pan, also, was given a place of honor in the same promiscuous stow-away.

The dew was sparkling like gems on the bearded wheat, so soon to fall before the reaper's stroke, and the tender grass and softly-fluttering trees were all bathed in the mellow sunlight, as they sped down the winding road.

When our friends arrived at the grove they found that the platform, which had been erected among the trees close to the river, was crowded with a well-dressed throng, who were merrily dancing to the music of violin, organ, and guitar. After the carriage-load had been deposited on the platform, and Rob and Scott had returned from caring for the team, the boys found Clifford, Grace, Ralph, and Maud busily improving the shining moments in the mazes of a cotillion.

When the music ceased, Maud was requested by one of the amateur musicians to second on the organ, which was a mere labor of love; and as she acceded to the request, she saw Rob and Grace spinning away in a waltz, dizzily gyrating about the platform with a full score of couples, all equally giddy and alike bent on extracting the most enjoyment out of the least possible time.

Clifford, who stood leaning against a tree, surveying the varied groups with that mingling of interest, amusement, and indifference, which we experience in viewing the movements of strangers who may soon become acquaintance, and possibly friends, was accosted by a handsome young man of near his own age, who greeted him very cordially.

The new-comer was Hugh Estill, the son of a wealthy ranchman who lived near, or at least but a few miles further down the valley. The two young men had become acquainted in a business way while Clifford had been buying cattle at the Estill ranch some weeks before, and it was to young Estill they owed the invitation to the picnic; so it was with a feeling of gratitude, not unmixed with respect in remembrance of the lordly ranch-house and its princely domain, that young Warlow shook hands and thanked the young ranchman for his thoughtful remembrance of them on this pleasant occasion.

Robbie had by this time surrendered his partner to a young cow-boy, a son of the greatest "cattle king" in the valley, and as the young "prince" led Miss Grace out through the changes of the quadrille he seemed totally oblivious of the fact that his leather "leggins," jingling spurs, and silver-mounted revolver hanging from a cartridge-belt, were not wholly in keeping with the festive occasion; and as they paused in the dance, the bovine princeling, after blowing a long breath and wiping his glowing brow on his sleeve, observed:—

"That was a terrible swell—the young blood with a biled vest, who just waltzed with you. Ha! ha!—a wild rose in his button-hole! Guess I'll have to get one also—by shot!"

But Miss Grace bluntly told him that a gourdvine would be far more suitable.

Robbie, who was happily unconscious of the disparaging remarks which were being made at the expense of his purple and fine linen, had joined Clifford and been introduced to the new friend, who passed some good-natured compliments on that urchin's dancing, to which Rob replied that he was but re-dedicating his boots that so lately had been resurrected; and he proceeded to tell in his inimitable manner of the mishap that had carried his best and dearly-beloved boots to a watery grave, from which they were at length "resurrected," all filled with mud and sand. Laughing heartily, Hugh said he hoped he would shine as brightly on the resurrection morn as those same "Sunday boots."

While Hugh and Bobbie had been engaged in the above frivolous and wholly unprofitable conversation, Clifford was improving the time in furtively staring at a radiant and superbly beautiful young lady who was playing the guitar near Maud; and, indeed, young Warlow might have been excused if we had detected him in the rude act, for it was a face which once seen would never be forgotten.

Her eyes of softest blue were veiled by silken, jetty lashes, and a wealth of raven-black hair rippled low on a face of creamy olive. An expression of pride mingled with the spirited vivacity of her charming face, which he thought was the most fascinating he had ever beheld.

Every detail of her dress, from the wide straw hat with its drooping spray of lilies, the creamy grenadine with its tangled pattern of the same snowy flowers and cascades of foamy lace, the cross and chain of palest coral, with ribbons of the same faint rose-hue, evinced the taste and refined instincts of a well-born and cultured lady.

There seemed to be the ineffable charm of grace and elegance in her very attitude, as she stood by the organ and swept the guitar with white, tapering fingers, while through all the melody there thrilled the sweet, dripping notes, like the memory of some half-forgotten dream, which, though elusive and vague, still haunts our waking hours through all the turmoil of a busy day.

"Where have I seen that form and face before?" said Clifford, half audibly, as the last faint notes died away, and he awoke from a reverie, while a look of surprise and delight broke over his handsome face; then turning to young Estill he said, in an eager tone:—

"Who is that divine young creature who played the guitar until she set me to dreaming of old Spain?"

"Why, that musical divinity," said Estill, with a hearty laugh, "is my only sister Morelia; or Mora, as we have become used to calling her. I shall be pleased to present you, for I am truly relieved to find some one who can appreciate her music, which always sounded to me very much like cats fighting."

A moment later the young men were upon the platform, and young Estill said, in his easy, good-humored way:—

"Sister Mora, let me present my friend, Mr. Warlow, on whom your music has had the strange effect of setting him to dreaming, not of cats on the roof, but of castles in Spain,—which I have by his own confession."

She gave young Warlow a fair, dimpled hand, on which flashed one ring of rose-colored amethyst, and, after he had bowed very low, their eyes met in a swift glance of half-puzzled recognition and surprise, while a magnetic shock caused them both to tremble; but quickly recovering, she said, with a smile, while toying with a bracelet of carved Neapolitan coral:—

"My brother's criticisms are not of much value, for the sweetest sounds to his ears are the bellowings of beef-cattle."

Then, as she and Clifford sauntered out to a seat under a tree, he said:—

"How strange it is, Miss Estill, that I have never met you before, for it seems as though I have known you for years!"

"Why, Mr. Warlow, I was just trying to recall the time and place where I had seen you. It must have been while we were traveling that we have been thrown together for a moment; yet I can not now remember the circumstance," she replied, with a look of interest dawning in her blue eyes.

"If we had I would not have forgotten such a pleasant incident, Miss Estill. But I am puzzled to think why I remember even your tone and manner so well, for I can't recall any chance meeting with you in the past."

At that moment Grace and Hugh Estill came up, and proposed that they should repair to the river, near by, and spend an hour fishing; so they soon were seated under the shade of an enormous cottonwood-tree on the banks of a deep pool, while Hugh and Grace, who had been introduced at some former meeting, strayed along the stream in quest of a "better place," which they did not discover in sight or hearing of Miss Estill and Clifford.

After casting their hooks into the quiet water, they sat down upon the shady bank, and Miss Estill said:—

"Hugh has often spoken of you lately, and we had discussed the subject of calling on your sister and Miss Moreland, but decided that we would send you an invitation to our picnic, at which I hoped to become acquainted with them." Then, seeing a shade of disappointment flit over his face, she added, archly: "And you also. But I assure you that the call will not be deferred a great while longer; for I am delighted to find such charming girls for neighbors."

"The invitation was very kind and thoughtful of you, Miss Estill. We had been longing to meet congenial companions, and hailed the news of the picnic with all the delight of people who have been isolated from society for a year or more. I hope you will believe it is no vain compliment when I tell you that I have already met new friends here that I value higher than any of my old ones," Clifford replied, as he knotted a bunch of elder-bloom, snowy and fragrant, with the blossoms of the wild heart's-ease, azure and gold, which grew on the sandy stretch at their feet. Then, adding a fern-like tuft of meadow-fescue, he held it toward Miss Estill, while a look of undisguised admiration shone in his clear blue eyes, saying:—

"In memory of my deep gratitude."

Fastening the flowers among the meshes of lace on her breast, she busied herself a moment with the fishing-tackle as she drew the hook from the water with a dangerous movement. Then, with a smile dimpling her face, she said:—

"If you feel such a deep sense of gratitude, Mr. Warlow, you may discharge the debt by baiting my hook, which some wary turtle or other aquatic creature, has been investigating."

With ready alacrity, Clifford performed the desired service; and as he let go the hook, Miss Estill began a series of manœuvres with the fish-pole that were as womanly as they were threatening. Finally, after the hook had performed for some time around his head with a dangerous "s-w-i-s-h," it fortunately landed plump into the water, with a thud and splash loud enough to scare all the fish upon dry land.

They stood a moment, silently watching the widening ripple; then, as they seated themselves on the bank again, Miss Estill said, with a smile:—

"You are very brave, indeed, Mr. Warlow, never to wince. But perhaps you were not aware of the great risk a man runs who fishes with a woman. I never should have forgiven myself if that awkward hook had caught in your eye."

"Or my ear," he added, with such a look of comic distress that she dropped her fish-pole into the water with a merry laugh; then, as he joined in the merriment, the startled mocking-bird overhead hushed its song, and flitted away to some quieter nook.

"Now, if we are not more careful, we will have to dine on humility to-day," she said, as he recovered the fishing-tackle. "But do you really grow lonesome in your new home, Mr. Warlow?" she added.

"Yes, indeed I did," said Clifford, with an emphasis on the past tense that indicated the remoteness of those days. "But we were very busy until recently, and I did not fully realize what a hermit I had become until I came here into the crowd, and found myself growing hot and cold by turns, my heart palpitating, and my hands and feet getting heavy. Then I knew it would only be a matter of time when I should fly, like a South Sea Islander, at very sight of a human face, much less the presence of a fashionable young lady;" and he joined Miss Estill's merriment at his charming candor, with an easy laugh.

"Oh, I appreciate the situation," she replied; "for when they sent me to Cincinnati to the boarding-school, where all was so strange, and the only ray of sunshine in the long weeks, months, and years was a flitting call from my fashionable aunt, or the yearly visits to my Western home, I felt desolate and miserable. Why, I was so shy, and possibly a bit wild, that I gained the name of Antelope among my school-mates;" and Miss Estill smiled somewhat sadly at remembrance of those past days.

"When you returned to your home, it certainly must have seemed lonely after the life in that 'American Florence,'" said young Warlow.

"Oh, it was paradise! I could scarcely believe that the old days of banishment were over; and indeed I half feared, sometimes, that they would pack me off again. It was such a perfect joy to be back at the dear old ranch once more with Hugh and my parents, that I vowed I should never leave again. But when I had been back a year I did sometimes long for a good, confidential chat with my girl friends, and would be a bit lonesome while Hugh was away; but our life is one ceaseless round of labor, toil, and care, so I have short time for repining. Would you believe, Mr. Warlow, that more than half the time all the duties of housekeeper, unaided, devolve upon me? Our house has been a constant panorama of 'domestic' weddings since I returned from school; yes, and for years before also. No sooner would we begin to appreciate some household treasure—a Nora, Ruth, or Nelly, who had come from the East to lessen our domestic burdens—than along would come some spruce ranchman or handsome young homesteader, and—presto!—our domestic was courted away in a twinkling to brighten a new home. And what with the wedding which mamma always insists upon, and the bridal finery she bestows, the burden is redoubled. My weary shoulders fairly ache as we pass through the constant, or tri-yearly, recurrence of the same experience. Hugh says that he believes the servant-girls of the East have finally come to look upon our house as a matrimonial agency."

"Do you not think, Miss Estill, that the bright new homes, which are a result of your charities, are sufficient reward for your domestic martyrdom?"

"Oh, if you think our providing wives for the miscellaneous ranchers, herders, and homesteaders could be called a charity, I will have to say that our furthering of those matches has proved a mixed blessing indeed; for I recall a world of conjugal infelicity which has followed those hasty and ofttimes ill-assorted matches. 'Marry at pleasure,' etc., is a maxim true as it is trite, Mr. Warlow."

"Yes; it is undeniable that unhappy matings do occur; but I can not see how a lonesome bachelor, who eats his own vile cooking and goes through the vain ceremony of laundry-work, could ever aggravate his deplorable condition, Miss Estill."

"But the fact remains that he certainly does," she replied, with a low gurgling laugh, like the ripple of some sweet, clear brook. "Why, Mr. Warlow, I recall a scene of which I was the innocent witness one evening last month. I was riding by the ranch of Mr. Blank, who had wooed and won our cook after a courtship that was as brief as it was fervid. I have reason to believe he pines for his former state of untrammeled freedom; for, in some argument which they seemed to be discussing that evening, she, his faithful helpmeet, hurled the milk-stool at his head. I rode quickly away, mentally washing my hands of any further matrimonial schemes.

"Mr. Warlow! a fish, a fish!" she cried in a low tone, and he turned his eyes reluctantly to the sadly neglected fishing-tackle, which he had "set" by thrusting the poles into the bank, and which they, in their long and absorbing conversation, had totally forgotten. There he saw the flash of a finny monster in the water, and the fish-pole violently threshing in the air above the pond, and as he drew the glittering perch from the pool, he found that it had become entangled in Miss Estill's fish-line also.

"It is our fish, is it not?—and a good omen," he said, as he secured the prize which fluttered at her feet.

"It is our 'luck,'" she replied gaily; "but we can boast of little skill in angling;" at which they both laughed, low but heartily, at the thought how far into foreign fields they had rambled, leaving their fishing to chance, and in that merry glance was laid the foundation of sympathy, appreciation, and friendship.

When they returned to the grove they were joined by Hugh, Grace, Maud, and Ralph, whose success had been most woefully indifferent. Those discomfited anglers looked with undisguised envy on the great piscatorial prize, and while it was frying on the fire, which Scott and Robbie kindled, they all lent a ready ear to the malicious story which the latter urchin told—"That Cliff had brought a mackerel to the picnic, and it was that same identical fish which they were frying."

When the cloth was spread on the grass, and the great fish, garnished with elder-blooms and wild-roses, was given the place of honor at the feast, Hugh Estill said:—

"Now, Mora, please pass the mackerel."

Only then was the fact made plain that Robbie was a boy, given to telling "fish stories," and could be trusted and relied upon only at the dinner-table.

Ah! it was a gleeful hour at that al fresco meal,—the soft breeze stirring the tree-tops, and the bright sunlight sifting down through the fluttering leaves on the silver and crystal, the frosty cake and quivering jelly, the crimson and gold, and, above all, the happy faces of our young friends.

Dancing and an impromptu concert, followed by charades on a temporary stage, served to pass away a few more blissful hours: then the revelers broke into groups and couples, sauntering into shady nooks, and engaging in those long and confidential chats which are totally devoid of interest to any save themselves.

Miss Estill and young Warlow were seated upon a bank where the mingled sunlight and pale shadows flickered softly over the lush and tender sward, and their conversation steered away from the shoals and quagmires of match-making and matrimony to the vague and mystic fields of metaphysics.

"Do you know, Miss Estill, that I have—a dim impression, shall I call it?—of having met you somewhere before?"

"Yes; I remember distinctly of your having not only met me, but also kindly helping me catch a fish, before," she replied, archly.

Clifford said, in a laughing manner, that he was not so ungallant as to forget that thrilling adventure, then he continued in an earnest tone:—

"I feel like we had met long years ago; and somehow, Miss Estill, it all appears so natural to be with you, to hear your tones and see your face, that it is like the return of some dear friend whom you have longed to see for years."

"You almost make me believe in the theory of the transmigration of souls, Mr. Warlow. How very possible it may have been that in some dim, pre-historic age you and I were a pair of giant king-fishers, who to-day were reunited on the banks of our favorite stream after the lapse of untold ages!—and what is more natural than we should take to our antediluvian occupation at once?" and she peered down into the pool with a sidelong glance as though searching for her finny prey, while Clifford shook with merriment at her happy imitation of that uncanny bird.

"I never was a firm believer in Swedenborg; yet the thought haunts me still that I certainly have met you before to-day, although, as you say, it may have been in some previous happy state, Miss Estill."

"Now, to be frank, Mr. Warlow, I confess to being a bit superstitious, which may be owing, however, to my living so isolated from society all these years that I even welcomed company of a supernatural nature, which, you know, is better than none."

"Why, it can not be that your vicinity is peopled by shrieking ghosts, too?" said Clifford quickly, as the memory of the spectre of the Stone Corral came to mind, which in the turmoil of their busy lives had been nearly forgotten.

"I can not see why I should revert to such a subject to-day; but some way the mention of transmigration of souls brought the remembrance of the Gray Spectre to my mind," said she, glancing furtively over her shoulder; then, as she caught young Warlow's amused look, she smiled responsively, and continued:—

"You too have a skeleton in the family, I perceive; so let's unburden our souls and exchange confidences."

"With all my heart," said Clifford; "I am glad we have such a mutual bond of sympathy."

Then he told how the gray-robed figure had startled the group at the camp-fire, and fled shrieking away, that memorable evening more than a year before; and although all of their family had maintained an apprehensive outlook for a second visit from his spookship, they never had been molested further; and he concluded by saying:—

"But I hope, Miss Estill, your experience will throw some light on the mystery."

"It is undoubtedly the same spectral being which has haunted our ranch for the past twenty-five years, and which has eluded pursuit on every occasion, although papa, Hugh, and several herders have endeavored, more or less bravely, to trace it; but the mysterious apparition always vanishes into the night without leaving a trace. Why, I have become so fearful that, like the daughter of the bold Glengyle,—