a hundred thousand dollars, and as
things were looking it seemed as if two more years would bring me to
that mark.

"Then," said I to Berna, "we'll go and travel all over the world, and do
it in style."

"Will we, dear?" she answered tenderly. "But I don't want money much
now, and I don't know that I care so much about travel either. What I
would like would be to go to your home, and settle down and live
quietly. What I want is a nice flower garden, and a pony to drive into
town, and a home to fuss about. I would embroider, and read, and play a
little, and cook things, and--just be with you."

She was greatly interested in my description of Glengyle. She never
tired of questioning me about it. Particularly was she interested in my
accounts of Garry, and rather scoffed at my enthusiastic description of
him.

"Oh, that wonderful brother of yours! One would think he was a small
god, to hear you talk. I declare I'm half afraid of him. Do you think he
would like me?"

"He would love you, little girl; any one would."

"Don't be foolish," she chided me. And then she drew my head down and
kissed me.

I think we had the prettiest little cabin in all Dawson. The big logs
were peeled smooth, and the ends squarely cut. The chinks were filled in
with mortar. The whole was painted a deep rich crimson. The roof was
covered with sheet-iron, and it, too, was painted crimson. There was a
deep porch to it. It was the snuggest, neatest little home in the world.

Windows hung with dainty lace curtains peeped through its clustering
greenery of vines, but the glory of it all was the flower garden. There
was a bewildering variety of flowers, but mostly I remember stocks and
pinks, Iceland poppies, marguerites, asters, marigolds, verbenas,
hollyhocks, pansies and petunias, growing in glorious profusion. Even
the roughest miner would stand and stare at them as he tramped past on
the board sidewalk.

They were a mosaic of glowing colour, yet the crowning triumph was the
poppies and sweet peas. Set in the centre of the lawn was a circle that
was a leaping glow of poppies. Of every shade were they, from starry
pink to luminous gold, from snowy white to passionate crimson. Like
vari-coloured lamps they swung, and wakened you to wonder and joy with
the exultant challenge of their beauty. And the sweet peas! All up the
south side of the cabin they grew, overtopping the eaves in their
riotous perfection. They rivalled the poppies in the ra