The lawn is in a two-sided, sheltered court, intersected with red-brick walks, and lilies grow everywhere. From our books on the lawn beside a little fountain under tall trees where birds sing and twitter, we rise and step past the lilies to the edge of the garden where the rich red earth, grass mantled, slopes to the ocean. Standing as if in a green pavilion, we seem detached from the universe while viewing it. Terrace upon terrace of hills we trace, champaigns of green speckled with little rosy craters like buds turned up to sun and shower; and off in the blue vault of sea and sky, other islands mirror-blue and palpitating like mirages. One hears that Maui, the second largest island, contains 728 square miles and that it is 10,000 feet high; but what are calculated confines when apparently the whole world of land and sea is spread before one’s eyes on every hand! Hand in hand, we look, and look, and strive to grasp the far-flung vision, feeling very small in its midst. “Beautiful’s no name for it,” breathes Jack; and through my mind runs a verse of Mrs. Browning’s, a favorite of my childhood:
“We walk hand in hand in the pure golden ether,
And the lilies look large as the trees;
And as loud as the birds sing the bloom-loving bees—
And the birds sing like angels, so mystical-fine,
While the cedars are brushing the Archangel’s feet.
And Life is eternity, Love is divine,
And the world is complete.”
This morning early we were out looking over our mounts and seeing that our saddles were in good shape. “I love the old gear!” Jack said, caressing the leather, well worn on many a journey. A cattle-drive and branding, with colt-breaking to follow, were the business of the day. At ten we cantered away from the corrals, and Jack and I went right into the work with Mr. Von Tempsky and his girls, Armine and Gwendolen, and the native cowboys, to round up the steers. Oddly enough, although born and raised in the West, we two have sailed over two thousand miles to take part in our first rodeo.
To my secret chagrin, I was doomed to be tried out upon an ambitionless mare, albeit Louisa is well-gaited and goodly to the eye. But I dislike to spur another person’s animal, so took occasion to look very rueful when my host, coming alongside, inquired: “Are you having a good time?” He could see that I was not, and sensed why; so he advised me not to spare the spur, adding: “There isn’t a better cattle pony, when she knows you mean business!”