“See, Dick,” she called, “this is where Jerry is going to build him a house some day. His granddad willed it to him. It takes in the part of the canyon where the Dooleys are, doesn’t it?”
“Close to it,” Jerry replied. “Their garden is on my line, but Dad and I will never put up fences.”
“Of course not!” Dora exclaimed. “Since you are the only child, it will all be yours.”
“There’s a jolly fine view from here,” Dick said admiringly as he sat on his horse gazing across the valley to the far range beyond Gleeson.
As they rode back down the valley Dora was thinking, “How can Mary help knowing that Jerry hopes that she will be the one to live in the house he plans building?” Then, with a little shrug, her thought ended with, “Oh well, and oh well, the future will reveal all.”
Down the road Mary was saying, “Jerry, I didn’t give that flannel to Etta. I just couldn’t. I was afraid she would think that we had come only for charitable reasons. Of course we did in the beginning, but, afterwards, I was so glad something had given me a chance to meet her.”
A solution was offered by the sudden appearance of the twins by the roadside.
Jerry, slipping the parcel from Mary’s saddle horn, tossed it down, calling, “This is for Baby Bess, tell Sister Etta.”
Mary flashed him a bright, relieved smile as they went on down the canyon road.