“I’ll tell you what,” Virg suggested. “Let’s lead him away from your camp. There’s a trail up to the Wallace cabin from beyond that jutting out rock. It’s about an eighth of a mile from here and as the wind is not blowing in that direction, I believe Old Stoic will soon again forget the near presence of a bear.” This was done. The small horse began to walk when Gordon pulled him in another direction. When the watching girl observed that the pack animal was willing to be led to the point she had indicated, she said that she would ride back to the covered wagon and tell the girls to accompany her. Although Gordon had recently visited the cabin in the canon in search of water, he had seen no one but the boy Peter who had gloomily told him that they didn’t have any to spare.
The lad having always had a secret desire to be an inventor, and having, in fact, won the admiration of his boy friends by fashioning all kinds of mechanical devices for toys in his own shop, was very eager to see the man who had a vision which he could not fulfill.
“May Annette and I go with you?” he asked eagerly.
“Why, of course, you may. We’ll be glad to have you. You will like poor Mr. Wallace. He is very lovable in spite of his queerness.”
Meanwhile Betsy having been permitted to peep at the tame bear (which to her thought had growled at her in a manner most untame) was glad indeed when Virg rode up and told them all to accompany her. Single file they rode up the narrow rugged trail, Virg in the lead and Gordon last that he might still hold the guiding rope attached to Old Stoic not knowing at what minute the wind might change and startle the pack animal into flight.
As they neared the shack-like cabin, half hidden by overhanging boulders, Virg gave a call with which she always heralded her approach. Instantly three children ran pell mell to the top of the trail, their homely freckled faces shining with their joy at seeing the good angel friend whom they had so missed.
Little Jane, aged six, hopped up and down so fast (clapping her hands all the time) that her two braids bobbed merrily.
Thoughtful eyed Sara, who was so like her faithful mother, smiled too, but made no move of welcome although her heart was just as glad. Twelve year old Peter raced to meet them down the trail and catching Virginia’s bridle, he looked up with adoration in his red-brown eyes. “Oh, Miss Virgie,” he cried, “Ma’s been that eager to have you come home from the East. Often I’ve heard her say, ‘Somehow things will be better when Miss Virginia comes’.”
There were sudden tears in the eyes of the girl, and reaching down she put her hand over the small brown one on her horse’s head.
“I’m glad to get home, Peter. How are your mother and dad?”