And that was how Alta Morgan came to the mountains—the pride of her old uncle’s heart, and to become the pride of the valley.
Her memories of Aunt Betty remained with her as a sweet, pure atmosphere throughout her life; but in the thrilling newness of the life of the craggy West her heart soon forgot its troubles. She responded to the life about her so readily that she seemed to have been always a part of it—a true Western girl, spontaneous, open-hearted, alive, free, yet tender and gentle withal. She was a sweet, wild rose blooming among the briers.
“Mornin’, daddy!”
“Good morning, little chipmunk!” responded Colonel Morgan, as Alta peeped playfully through the door rather too late for breakfast. “How’s my bright-eyed lassie after her fun?”
She tripped across the room, to give him a squeeze and a kiss.
“Oh! I’m happy. How are you?”
“Gaunt as a race horse,” he returned, heaving a hungry sigh; “Aunt ‘Liza went off celebratin’ too, you know, and she hasn’t got back yet.” Aunt ‘Liza was the housekeeper of the ranch.
“What!” exclaimed Alta, “then you haven’t had breakfast? Why didn’t you wake this sleepy-head girl of yours? I’ll hurry now for sure.” She skipped to the kitchen as she spoke, to find breakfast well under way.
“You dear old daddy,” she called, tripping back to give him another kiss; “I am afraid you are going to spoil me. There’s nothing left to do but set the table. But why didn’t you wake me?”
“Oh, I knew my little girl would be tired after such a jolly time with her new beau.”