ing one for ten months and three-quarters the way I
have."

"Humph!" grunted the brakeman again. "You must be a tenderfoot."

"I am," cried Priscilla, "and I'm glad of it! You can only see bran-new
things once. The second time you see them they aren't new any longer, and
can't give you thrills like the first time."

The brakeman grinned.

"There's some yucca," he shouted, pointing to a tall, straight plant with
white, bell-shaped flowers growing by the track.

"What's that?" screamed the interested Priscilla.

"Sometimes folks call it Indian soap-weed," explained the brakeman in her
ear, "because if you break the leaves they'll lather in water. And some
folks call it Spanish bayonet. It grows in barren places out here."

"I'll put that in my Thought Book," Priscilla told him. "I guess it's
lucky I have a new one with all these new things to write about. Why are
all the trees out here those tall cottonwoods?"

"They ain't all," answered the obliging brakeman, "but the cottonwoods
don't take so much soil. They grow easy and quick, and make good
wind-breaks, so folks plant 'em when they build a house near a creek like
that one over there. Quaking-asps--they grow well, too."

"Quaking-asps!" cried Priscilla. "Where are they? Please show me! I'd give
worlds to see one! My roommate lives out here--I'm just on my way to visit
her--and it's her favorite tree."

"You don't have to give nothin'," shouted her companion dryly. "There's
plenty of 'em right along this creek we're passing. They're them little
trees with light green trunks and trembly leaves. They grow by creeks and
in springy places mostly."

Priscilla leaned over the railing and gazed.

"Oh, aren't they happy? They're the jolliest trees I ever saw!"

"I guess that is a good word for 'em," agreed the brakeman. "They sure do
dance around."

"Doesn't anything grow on those hills but little trees and sagebrush?"
queried Priscilla. "It _is_ sagebrush, isn't it? I guessed it was from
pictures, and from what Virginia said."

"Yes, it's sagebrush, ma'am, and nothin' much grows on them buttes except
that and rattlers."

"Oh!" screamed Priscilla. "That's one thing I'd hate to see! You don't
think I will, do you?"

"Like's not," encouraged the brakeman. "They ain't so bad. Must come in
handy for something, else we wouldn't have 'em."

Just then Carver Standish had opened the door for Aunt Nan, who announced
breakfast for the party. Priscilla was obdurate.