“Yes, Bob, I mean what I say,” he continued; “for pity’s sake, cheer up, and don’t be receiving her ladyship with the countenance of a boiled ghost. That will depress her far more than anything in poor old California. Be your old bright self again, and throw off all these misgivings. You’ve just worked yourself out, and you ought to have taken a month’s holiday down the coast. You would have come back as strong as a jack-rabbit and as chirpy as a little horned toad.”
“Oh, I shall be all right,” said Robert Strafford; “and you’re such a brick, Ben. You’ve always been good to me. I’ve been such a sullen cur lately. But for all that—”
“But for all that, you’re not a bad fellow at your best,” said Ben, smiling; “and now come back with me. I can’t have you mooning here by yourself to-night. Come back with me, and I’ll cook you a splendid piece of steak, and I’ll send you off in excellent form to meet and marry her ladyship to-morrow morning. Then whilst you are off on that errand, I’ll turn in here and make the place as trim as a ship’s cabin, and serve up a nice little dinner fit for a king and queen. Come on, old man. I half think there may be rain to-night.”
“I must just water the horses,” said Robert Strafford, “and then I’m ready for you.”
The two friends sauntered down to the stables, the pointer Nellie following close upon their heels.
It was the hour of sunset, that hour when the barren scenery can hold its own for beauty with the loveliest land on earth. The lights changed and deepened, and faded away and gave place to other colours, until at last that tender rosy tint so dear to those who watch the Californian sky, jewelled the mountains and the stones, holding everything, indeed, in a passing splendour.
“Her ladyship won’t see anything like that in England,” said Ben; and he stooped down and picked some wild-flowers which were growing over the ranch: Mexican primroses and yellow violets.
“The ear-trumpet lady says this is going to be a splendid year for the wild-flowers,” he added, “so her ladyship will see California at its best. But I believe we are in for some rain. I rather wish it would keep off until she has happily settled down in her new home.”
“It won’t rain yet,” said Robert Strafford, leading out one of the horses to the water-trough. Then Ben fetched the other one out; but he broke loose and hurried up on the hill, and Ben followed after him, swearing in his usual patent manner in a gentle and musical monotone, as though he were reciting prayers kneeling by his mother’s side. At last the horse was caught, and the chickens were fed, and Nellie was chained up to keep guard over the Californian estate. Robert mounted his little mare Jinny and said some words of comfort and apology to the pointer.
“Poor old Nellie, woman,” he said; “I hate to leave you by yourself. But you must keep the house and ranch safe for your mistress. And I’ve given you an extra supply of bones. And we’ll go hunting soon, old girl, I promise you.”