But the camper had not gone. He had been lying very still behind a great gray boulder. He knew that this maiden had climbed the trail, wishing to be alone, and, too, he had reasons of his own for not desiring to make his presence known.
As Josephine Bayley descended the trail, her fancy followed the mysterious camper, wondering what he might look like,—a hoary-bearded prospector, perhaps, still hunting for that elusive vein of silver. Had she seen the young man who stood erect soon after her departure, had she noted his square chin, his gray, far-seeing eyes, his keen, kind face, tanned by the beating of sun and wind, sleet and rain, she would have been more interested and curious than ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KEN’S QUEST
When the pupils gathered on Monday morning, Miss Bayley soon realized that the little Martins had something to tell her that they believed was of great interest. It was indeed astonishing and most acceptable news. Carol, who had spent Saturday afternoon on the Valley Ranch, had been informed by Sue Piggins that little Jessica Archer was to return with her to the boarding-school in Reno. Mrs. Sethibald, the mother, had let it be known that a common log-cabin school was not good enough for a “sheep-princess,” and that from then on she was to have the best “iddication” that could be obtained, for, like as not, when she was grown, she’d be one of the first ladies of Nevada, if not of the whole land.
“The girls over there won’t like her, not the least little mite,” Sue had prophesied, “that is, not unless she changes a lot. Their fathers are all more educated, and just as rich as Mr. Archer is or ever will be.”
Miss Bayley said little when this news was told, but secretly she rejoiced. She had feared that she would be obliged by the law to report Jessica as a truant if she did not attend school anywhere, but it surely was not pleasant to anticipate her return to the little log school in Woodford’s Cañon.
So happy, indeed, did the girl-teacher feel that she wished that it were within her power to declare a half-holiday, but, since it was not, she decided to close half an hour early and take all her little pupils, Mexicans, blacksmith’s son, and the trapper’s two little girls, who always looked hungry, with the four Martins, over to her cabin to celebrate. Even while she was giving out sums in mathematics her thoughts were straying. “I’m so glad I made a mountain of a chocolate cake,” she was thinking; “and I’ll make more chocolate to drink, and for once Milly and Maggy Mullett, at least, shall have all the cake they wish.”
Mrs. Sethibald Archer would indeed have been indignant if she had known her daughter’s withdrawal from the log-cabin school was being considered an occasion for especial rejoicing.
Often during the morning Dixie glanced at Miss Bayley and thought that she never before had noticed how very young-looking she was, and, too, the girl-teacher looked as though she might begin to sing at any minute. Indeed, so real was Miss Bayley’s desire to do so that she quite upset the usual plan of study by saying: “Don’t let’s do mathematics any more this morning. Let’s each choose a song to sing.” Which they did, and how the little old schoolhouse rang, for each chose a song that they all knew well, and although little Dixie, who led them, had not the vaguest idea why teacher was so happy, the spirit of rejoicing was contagious, and her birdlike soprano voice trilled sweeter and higher, encouraging those who faltered.
When at last the solemn-faced clock, which perhaps had been watching all this unusual procedure with dignified surprise, slowly tolled the hour of ten, Miss Bayley said: “And now we will have recess. Dixie, dear, will you lead the games to-day, and Ken, will you remain with me? I wish to speak to you.”