yond the hogback rise huge
mountains, rugged canyons, and noisy mountain streams; great forests of
pine help to make up the picture. Looking toward the east we could see
where mighty Green River cuts its way through walls of granite. The
road lies close up against the sandstone and cedar hills and along the
canal that carries the water to all the farms in the valley. I enjoyed
every moment. It was all so beautiful,--the red rock, the green
fields, the warm brown sand of the road and bare places, the mighty
mountains, the rugged cedars and sage-brush spicing the warm air, the
blue distance and the fleecy clouds. Oh, I wish I could paint it for
you! In the foreground there should be some cows being driven home by
a barefooted boy with a gun on his shoulder and a limp brown rabbit in
his hand. But I shall have to leave that to your imagination and move
on to the Fourth.

On that day every one turns out; even from the very farthest outlying
ranches they come, and every one dressed in his best. No matter what
privation is suffered all the rest of the time, on this day every one
is dressed to kill. Every one has a little money with which to buy
gaudy boxes of candy; every girl has a chew of gum. Among the children
friendship is proved by invitations to share lemons. They cordially
invite each other to "come get a suck o' my lemon." I just _love_ to
watch them. Old and young are alike; whatever may trouble them at
other times is forgotten, and every one dances, eats candy, sucks
lemons, laughs, and makes merry on the Fourth.

I didn't care much for their contests. I was busy watching the faces.
Soon I saw one I knew. Connie was making her way toward me. I wondered
how I could ever have thought her plain. Pride lighted every feature.
She led by the hand the most beautiful child I have ever seen. She is
a few weeks younger than Jerrine[1] but much smaller. She had such an
elusive beauty that I cannot describe it. One not acquainted with her
story might have thought her dress out of taste out among the sand
dunes and sage-brush in the hot sun, but I knew, and I felt the thrill
of sheer blue silk, dainty patent-leather slippers, and big blue hat
just loaded with pink rose-buds.

[Footnote 1: The author's daughter, aged eight.]

"This is my Lennie," said Connie proudly.

I saw all the Ford family before I left,--the weak-faced,
discouraged-looking father and the really beautiful girls. Connie was
neat in a pretty little dress