goon saddle. My eyes
were too full of tears to see, but grandma put the reins in my hand and
started me away. Away where? To drive up the cows? Yes,--and into wider
fields of thought than she recked.

After I got beyond our road, I stopped Charlie, and made him turn his
face toward mine, and told him all that had happened, and just how I
felt. The good old horse seemed to understand, for no friend could be
more faithful than Charlie thenceforth proved to me. He learned to
separate our cows from the many strange ones on the plain; to move
faster when it rained; to choose the crossings that were safe; and to
avoid the branches that might scrape me from his back. Grandma was
pleased to learn that drivers on the range, when inquiring about
strays, addressed me as "Bubbie." My humiliation, however, was so great
that, though Georgia and I were room-mates, and had secret day
meetings, I never went near her when others were by.

She was allowed to play oftener with neighbors' children, and
occasionally spent a week or more with Mrs. Bergwald, helping her to
care for her little daughter. While away, she learned fine needlework,
had fewer crying spells, and was more contented than at home with
grandma.

This happiness in her life added much to mine, and it came to pass that
the duty which had seemed such a bitter task, became a pleasure. As the
days lengthened, chum Charlie and I kept earlier hours, and crept
closer to the heart of nature. We read the signs of the day in the dawn
tints; watched the coyotes and other night prowlers slink back to their
lairs; saw where the various birds went to housekeeping, and how they
cared for their young; knew them also by their call and song. We could
show where Johnnie-jump-ups and baby-blue-eyes grew thickest; where the
cream cups were largest; and where the wild forget-me-nots blossomed.
We explored each nook and corner for miles around, and felt that
everything that God had made and man had not put his mark upon was
ours.

The aged boughs heaped by the wind in wild confusion about the maimed
and storm-beaten tree-trunks seemed to assume fantastic shapes and
expressions as we approached from different directions, or viewed them
under light and shadow of changing weather. Gnarled and twisted, they
became elves and goblins, and the huge piles of storm wreckage were
transformed into weird old ruins and deserted castles like those which
grandma had described to me in legends of the Rhine.