The day came when Carley asked Mrs. Hutter: "Will you please put up a

nice lunch for Glenn and me? I'm going to walk down to his farm where

he's working, and surprise him."

"That's a downright fine idea," declared Mrs. Hutter, and forthwith

bustled away to comply with Carley's request.

So presently Carley found herself carrying a bountiful basket on her

arm, faring forth on an adventure that both thrilled and depressed her.

Long before this hour something about Glenn's work had quickened her

pulse and given rise to an inexplicable admiration. That he was big and

strong enough to do such labor made her proud; that he might want to go

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on doing it made her ponder and brood.

The morning resembled one of the rare Eastern days in June, when the air

appeared flooded by rich thick amber light. Only the sun here was hotter

and the shade cooler.

Carley took to the trail below where West Fork emptied its golden-green

waters into Oak Creek. The red walls seemed to dream and wait under the

blaze of the sun; the heat lay like a blanket over the still foliage;

the birds were quiet; only the murmuring stream broke the silence of

the canyon. Never had Carley felt more the isolation and solitude of

Oak Creek Canyon. Far indeed from the madding crowd! Only Carley's

stubbornness kept her from acknowledging the sense of peace that

enveloped her--that and the consciousness of her own discontent. What

would it be like to come to this canyon--to give up to its enchantments?

That, like many another disturbing thought, had to go unanswered, to

be driven into the closed chambers of Carley's mind, there to germinate

subconsciously, and stalk forth some day to overwhelm her.

The trail led along the creek, threading a maze of bowlders, passing

into the shade of cottonwoods, and crossing sun-flecked patches of sand.

Carley's every step seemed to become slower. Regrets were assailing

her. Long indeed had she overstayed her visit to the West. She must not

linger there indefinitely. And mingled with misgiving was a surprise

that she had not tired of Oak Creek. In spite of all, and of the dislike

she vaunted to herself, the truth stared at her--she was not tired.

The long-delayed visit to see Glenn working on his own farm must result

in her talking to him about his work; and in a way not quite clear she

regretted the necessity for it. To disapprove of Glenn! She received

faint intimations of wavering, of uncertainty, of vague doubt. But these

were cried down by the dominant and habitable voice of her personality.




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