ving
people--and things! If you love the wrong kind of people and the things
that don't count, why, then--why, then Life's a sad, gray thing. But if
you love the right kind of people, the kind who've learned that a primrose
isn't just a primrose, and things like the mountain and the mesa and
_you_, Pedro--why, then, Life's a golden thing like to-day. And it's the
loving that makes all the difference. I discovered that this morning when
Aunt Nan told me about Malcolm. When I was in Vermont I thought that
Grandmother and Aunt Nan were about the happiest people I'd seen; but this
morning, when I saw the light in Aunt Nan's eyes, I understood. I guess
it's a home that makes all the difference, Pedro--a home you and _somebody
else_ make together!"

Pedro fed on, glad to be talked to, confident that his mistress' world had
righted itself again. A passing cloud obscured the sun for a brief
moment.

"That's the way it was with me this morning," confided Virginia. "For just
an instant I felt sorry. 'Twas the selfish part of me coming out. I didn't
want any one to take a bigger piece of Aunt Nan's heart than mine. I
didn't want to move over and make room for any one else--even Malcolm. But
that mean, drab feeling lasted only a moment. It went right away, and now
I'm glad, _glad--glad!_ If Grandmother Webster's only glad, too, there
couldn't be any greater happiness in the world, could there, Pedro?"

Pedro stopped feeding to look back at his mistress, and to shake his
head. Virginia laughed.

"You're the only friend I want to-day, Pedro," she said, her arms around
his neck, "you and a big Something in my heart. I wanted to come away off
up here alone with you. That's why I hurried you so, poor dear! I wanted
to hear the stillness all around, and to look at the mountains. I wanted
to think about it, and to wonder if, some day, after I've learned more
things, it will come to me, too!"

Impulsively she turned in her saddle and looked down the foot-hills. Some
one was fording the creek. She knew it even before she heard the splash of
water. As she watched, two riders left the ford, and turned north up the
canyon trail. They were Malcolm and Aunt Nan. Virginia turned back toward
the mountains, and sat very still.

"Pedro," she said at last, her voice breaking, "I guess perhaps we'd
better go home, don't you? Aunt Nan and Malcolm have found their trail,
you see. They don't need us just now. No, I'm not sorry! I'm glad! I just
_k