Florence spoke of it. "Looks like Huckleberry Springs. Whom does its owner find to carry up here?"
"Mostly it carries the minister and undertaker at funerals," replied Kelley.
"Cheerful lot!" exclaimed the girl. "It smells morbific."
"You can't be particular up here," responded Fred. "You'll find our boarding-place somewhat crude."
"Oh, I don't mind crudeness—but I hate decayed pretensions. If this were only a mountain cart now!"
"It was the only kerridge with springs," explained Kelley.
The little mother now began to take notice of her son's partner. "My son tells me you have been very good to him—a kind of big brother. I am very grateful."
"Oh, I've done no more for him than he has for me. We both felt kind of lonesome and so rode alongside."
"It's wonderful to me how you could keep Mr. Kelley out of your letters," said Florence. "He looks exactly like a Remington character, only his eyes are honester and his profile handsomer."
Kelley flushed and Fred laughed. "I never did understand why Remington made all his men cross-eyed."