"You are right," Kenneth rejoined. "Miss Bright has lived more years of service to her fellow men in the few months she has been in Gila, than I have lived in my thirty years." Then, half in jest, half in earnest, he continued, "I wish Miss Bright could have been my grandmother, then my mother, then my—" He halted in embarrassment, as he saw a deep blush sweep over Esther's face.
"And then—" suggested Lord Kelwin, in a provoking tone—"and then?"
"I should like her for my friend."
"So say we all of us," rejoined John Clayton. Then observing Esther's face, he changed the drift of the conversation.
"How would you good people like to make up a party to go to Box Canyon sometime in the near future?"
"Delightful!" spoke several, simultaneously. And thereupon they began to describe for Esther the canyon and what she would see.
Before leaving the table, every wineglass save one was filled with sherry. That glass was turned down. John Clayton rose and lifted his glass.
"Here's to our dear friend, Miss Bright. May she always be sixteen at heart, with her ideals of life as true and as sweet as they are now; may the cares of life sit lightly upon her; may she be given strength to do all that she will always seek out and find to do; may the love of the true of heart enfold her; may the Heavenly Father keep her in all her ways; may the shadow ever turn backward on the dial."
And lifting their glasses, they drank to this toast.
Ah, little did they realize how prophetic in some ways that toast would prove to be, nor how great was the work that lay before the lovely and fragile-looking girl. All were happy and light-hearted; at least, all save Carla Earle. She sat quiet and retiring, when her duties were over. Wathemah had found refuge in her lap, and his regular breathing assured her he was fast asleep. So the evening wore on. At last all the guests except Wathemah had departed. The fire burned low. And soon all were asleep in the quiet house.