our old mother hasn't lived all these years
for nothing. I'm not thinking of you; I'm thinking of her." She
pointed towards the door of another room, from which came sounds of
laughter--happy laughter--in which a man's and a woman's voices
sounded. "On the day she comes into this house--and that's the day after
to-morrow--I shall go. I'll stand at the door and welcome you, and see
you have a good wedding-breakfast and that it all goes off grand, then I
shall vanish."

Orlando made a helpless gesture of the hand. "Well, mother, as I said,
it will make us both unhappy--Louise as much as me. You and I have never
been parted except for a few weeks at a time, and I'm sure I don't know
how I could stand it."

"Rather late to think about it," the other returned. "You can't have two
women spoiling you in one house and being jealous of each other--oh,
you needn't toss your fingers! Even two women that love each other can't
bear the competition. Just because I love her and want her to be happy,
off I go to your Aunt Amelia to live with her. She's poor, and I'll
still have someone to boss as I've bossed you. I never knew how much I
loved Amelia till she got sick last year when everything terrible was
happening here. I'm going, Orlando--

Two birds hopping on one branch
Would kill the joy of Slow Down Ranch--

"There, I made that up on the moment. It's true, even if it is poetry."

"It isn't poetry, mother," was the reply, and there was an ironical
look in Orlando's eyes. "Poetry's the truth of life," he hastened to add
carefully, "and it's not poetry to say that you could be a kill-joy."

The little lady tossed her head. "Well, you'll never have a chance to
prove it, for I'm taking the express east on the night of your wedding.
That's settled. Amelia needs me, and I'm going to her.... Your wedding
present will be the ranch and a hundred thousand dollars," she added.

"You're the sun-dried fruit of Paradise, Mother," Orlando said, taking
her by the arms.

"I heard the Young Doctor call me a bird of Paradise once," she
returned. "People don't know how sharp my ears are.... But I never
stored it up against him. Taste is born in you, and if people haven't
got it in the cradle, they never have it. I suppose his mother went
around in a black alpaca and wore her hair like a wardress in a jail.
I'm sorry for him--that's all."

"Suppose I should get homesick for you and run away from her!" remarked
Orlando slyly.