CHAPTER IV
A Looking-Glass Visit
It was one of those warm spells that turn up so unexpectedly in winter, and that almost make you believe that you’ve slept right through the cold months, and that spring is sitting out there in the sun, ready to begin her immortal business of turning the earth into grass and leaves and flowers. But of course she isn’t, and often the next day will be so freezing, blowy, grey and grim that you go about smiling scornfully, as well as you can for a stiff face and chattering teeth, and saying to yourself that never, NEVER will you let yourself be fooled again.
But of course you are.
Anyhow, this was a real spring-feeling day, and Rose and Ruth whooped with delight when their Dad told them they might ride out on the range with him and have a camp-fire lunch. Then they must ride straight back alone.
They were used to that, however, and liked the excitement of riding alone across the mesa and down through the shallow cañon that brought them in sight of their home.
The warm wave had swept most of the snow away, though there were streaks of it left in all the shaded spots. And oh, but the prairie wind was sweet as it blew into their faces.
Pink-faced and laughing, they reined in their cow-ponies at the turn of the trail to wave farewell to Marmie, who stood at the open door flapping a dish-cloth in return. Dad let out a huge yell, and the dish-cloth flapped harder than ever. Then they set the broncos to loping, and soon even the cottonwoods had disappeared from sight behind the rocky shoulder that guarded the beginning of the cañon.
A glorious morning they had of it. Dad let them race up on the mesa, timing them, while Jim and Hank, two of the boys, shouted cheers. Rose came in only the least bit ahead, and that was because Ruth had to swerve away from a prairie dog hole. And then the lunch!
“Marmie knows what we can hold after riding all morning, doesn’t she, Dad,” grunted Ruth, surveying the wreck of tin cans, paper packages, chicken bones and sardine boxes which were the sole survivors of a sumptuous feast.
“She sure does,” agreed Dad. “But how a pindling little thing like you can hold the half of what you’ve put away beats me.”