“I never had such a good time in all my life as I’ve had in this ‘Erminie,’ and I never expect to again! It ’most breaks my heart to say good-by to it!”
“Don’t say it then! I shan’t, though I feel as bad as you do. But our worst good-by is to come when Aunt Betty starts east and we west. I can’t—how can I?—let her go alone?”
This was sufficient to arouse all Alfy’s sympathy. She promptly forgot her own regret in soothing her friend, for Dorothy’s grief was most sincere. Ever since that day when she had learned that Mrs. Calvert was her own kin she had loved the lady with all her heart and had, during the past winter of Aunt Betty’s lameness, felt that she must now take care of her. She did not realize that the one-time invalid was now quite well and as independent of aid as ever. Indeed, the Gray Lady had laughingly declared:
“Dear Mrs. Betty is the youngest-hearted of us all!”
After that happy day when Dorothy had helped to bring about the reunion of the long parted Fords, the “Railroad Boss” had taken his wife and son away for a little time; but they had soon returned to El Paraiso, that charming home in the southwestern city and had remained as members of Mrs. Calvert’s household till the spring days came. Then Mr. Ford had announced his summer plans:
“I’m going to give myself a long vacation. I own a ranch in the Colorado mountains and I’m going to take you all, each and everyone, to enjoy it with me. My wife, Erminie, claims it her turn to play hostess, so we’ll all become cowboys and cowgirls, and have a wild-west show of our own, with a continuous performance for three jolly months. All in favor, say Aye!”
“Aye! Aye! Aye!” the youngsters had it, so heartily that, for a moment, nobody noticed that Aunt Betty was silent. Then, when Dorothy observed this, with a down-sinking of her own spirits, the lady made haste to explain:
“Nothing could please me better for Dorothy, and for myself if I were able to accept. But I can’t. As you know, my business affairs have become tangled in some way and I must go home to really understand what is amiss. Indeed, I don’t know yet where I may have to be during the warm weather and I’m delighted for my little girl, and for Alfaretta, to have such a fine chance. I fancy you’ll all come east in the autumn, as brown as the Indians who’ll be your neighbors, and in fine health. How soon do you leave, Mr. Ford? That I may make some arrangement about this dear old house, for I shan’t want to stay in it after you’re gone.”
Then it was his turn to explain:
“I have felt all along, ever since I found Erminie here with our boy, that the place should never become again just ‘a house to rent.’ So I’ve bought it. I’ve found Padre Nicolas, the old priest whom the Indians love and trust, and deeded it to him in trust for them as a Home. Here Lazaro Gomez and the other ancients of his race shall dwell in comfort for the rest of their days. The only proviso is that Father Nicholas shall admit none who hasn’t reached the age of discretion—say, eighty-odd years, or so! Nor shall any of his charges be compelled to tame wild beasts and sell them for a livelihood. The good old priest is ready to take possession as soon as we vacate and will put everything into what Alfy calls ‘apple-pie order,’ according to a red man’s fancy. So, when everybody is ready—Don’t hurry, please!—we’ll board my car, the ‘Erminie,’ and take our leisurely way northward. It isn’t as if we had to say good-by, you see, for we’ll be all together still. As for Mrs. Calvert’s plan—maybe we can persuade her to postpone business awhile for a taste of real ranch life. Eh?”