he
sunset. Already the sun was low in the west, a huge ball of fire just
ready to drop into the sea of prairie grass.

"It doesn't seem nearly so hot here as I thought it would," observed
Bertha, after a time. "Oh, it's been warm to-day, of course--part of
the time awfully warm," she added hastily. "But I've been just as hot in
New Hampshire."

"We think we've got a mighty fine climate," spoke up Mr. Hartley. "Now,
last year, you in the East, had heaps of prostrations from the heat.
Texas had just three."

"I suppose that was owing to the Northers," murmured Cordelia,
interestedly. "Now, feel it!" She put up her hand. "There's a breeze,
now. Is that a Norther?"

Mr. Hartley coughed suddenly. Genevieve stared.

"What do you know about Northers?" she demanded.

"Why, I--I read about them. It said you--you had them."

Genevieve broke into a merry laugh.

"I should think, by the way you put it, that they were the measles or
the whooping cough! We do have them, Cordelia--in the winter, specially,
but not so often in July. Besides, they don't feel much like this little
breeze--as you'd soon find out, if you happened to be in one."

For a moment there was silence; then Genevieve spoke again.

"See here, where'd you find out all these things about Texas--that we
didn't have butter, and did have Northers?"

Before Cordelia could answer, Tilly interposed with a chuckling laugh:

"I'll tell you, Genevieve, just where they found out," she cut in,
utterly ignoring her own share of the "they." "Now, listen! How do you
suppose they spent all the time you were in New Jersey? I'll tell you.
They were digging up Texas every single minute; and they dug, and dug,
and dug, until there wasn't a mean annual temperature, or a mean
anything else that they didn't drag from its hiding-place and hold up
triumphantly, and shout: 'Behold, this is Texas!'"

"Girls--you didn't!" cried Genevieve, choking with laughter.

"They did!" affirmed Tilly.

"Yes, _we_ did--including Tilly," declared Cordelia, with unexpected
spirit.

Everybody laughed this time, but it was Alma, the peacemaker, who spoke
next.

"Oh, look--look at the sun!" she exclaimed. "Aren't those rose-pink
clouds gorgeous?"

"My, wouldn't they make a lovely dress?" sighed Elsie.

"Yes, and see the golden pathway the sun has made, straight down to the
prairie," cried Bertha Brown.

"Oh, look, look, Mr. Hartley! Is that grass on fire?" gasped Cordelia.

Mr. Hartle