A wave of panic seized her. Would she know how to manage affairs in this strange new world, this place of rugged, lonely peaks, pine-forested mountainsides, of narrow valleys filled with rioting men? Yet panic was followed by sudden exhilaration, born, perhaps, of the strange clearness of the thin air and the brilliance of the morning sunshine. She remembered the dance again, how she had been manager of it and how the evening had been full of congratulations on the success of her arrangements. Yet in the midst of it she had felt a vague discontent, a sudden wonder whether this was all the pleasure that life had to offer. Well, she thought now, with a long breath of fresh, sparkling air, if she could hold her own in that world, she could in this also, and she returned to her work.
Nancy, quite untroubled by any doubts or fancies, was plodding steadily ahead at the task in hand. It had been no hardship for her to arise early, explore the possibilities of the kitchen, concoct a breakfast out of such supplies as they had brought with them, and carry it in on a tray with a beaming and triumphant smile.
Aunt Anna seemed to have suffered little harm from the midnight flitting, and was sleeping late after the excitements of the night before. She had been made comfortable at once in the one room that was in tolerable order; for the girls had only to make up the couch with the bedding they had brought, to build a fire out of the pine cones that lay so thickly under the trees, and the apartment was ready for the invalid. Christina had taken charge of the place for the former occupants, and had left it very clean and in order. In the dry Montana air, no house, even when closed for months, grows damp, nor, in the clean pine woods, even very dusty. Aunt Anna had remained long awake, however; for, two hours later when it was almost dawn, Beatrice had stolen in and found her staring wide-eyed at the fire.
“Can I do anything for you? Aren’t you very tired?” the girl had asked, but her aunt only smiled and shook her head.
“I am very comfortable,” she said. “I think we are going to be very happy in this strange little house. I am glad you had the courage to bring me here, my child.”
Beatrice stood beside the bed and straightened the coverlid.
“Won’t you tell me why you wanted so much to stay?” she begged. “I wish I might know.”
Her aunt did not answer for a moment.
“I used to think,” she said at last, “that you might never know, but perhaps, since last night, I have changed my mind. Yes, whatever happens, I believe I will tell you, but not just now; for I am too weary to go through with such a thing. Move my pillow a little, my dear; I am going to sleep. The music of that waterfall would make anybody drowsy.”
Before they had finished breakfast, Christina had appeared, with Sam, heavy-laden, following her, bringing more of their things from the village.