Then on again, following the sun till it sank behind a mountain range and they had climbed well nigh to the top. Here Mr. Ford ordered a brief halt, that the travellers might look behind them at the glorious landscape. When they had done so, till the scene was impressed upon their memories forever, again the order came:
“Eyes front! but shut! No peeping till I say—Look!”
Laughing, finding it ever so difficult to obey, but eager, indeed, the last ascent was made. Then the wheels seemed to have found a level stretch of smoother travelling and again came Mr. Ford’s cry:
“All eyes front and—open! Welcome to San Leon!”
Open they did. Upon one of the loveliest homes they had ever beheld. A long, low, roomy building, modelled in the Mission style that Lady Gray so greatly admired; whose spacious verandas and cloistered walks invited to delightful days out of doors; while everywhere were flowers in bloom, fountains playing, vine-clad arbors and countless cosy nooks, shadowed by magnificent trees. A lawn as smooth as velvet, dotted here and there by electric light poles whose radiance could turn night into day.
For a moment nobody spoke; then admiration broke forth in wondering exclamations, while the host helped his wife to alight, asking:
“Well, Erminie, does it suit you?”
“Suit? Dear, I never dreamed of anything better than a plain shack on a mountain side. That’s what you called it—but this—this is no shack. It’s more like a palace!”
“Well, the main thing is to make it a home.”
“Is it as good as the ‘cabin,’ father?” asked Leslie, coming up and laying his hand on Mr. Ford’s shoulder.