CHAPTER X
“There must be hills and valleys, and rich land, and streams of clear water, good wagon roads and a railroad not too far away, plenty of sunshine, and cold enough at night to need blankets, and not only pines but plenty of other kinds of trees, with open spaces to pasture Billy's horses and cattle, and deer and rabbits for him to shoot, and lots and lots of redwood trees, and... and... well, and no fog,” Saxon concluded the description of the farm she and Billy sought.
Mark Hall laughed delightedly.
“And nightingales roosting in all the trees,” he cried; “flowers that neither fail nor fade, bees without stings, honey dew every morning, showers of manna betweenwhiles, fountains of youth and quarries of philosopher's stones—why, I know the very place. Let me show you.”
She waited while he pored over road-maps of the state. Failing in them, he got out a big atlas, and, though all the countries of the world were in it, he could not find what he was after.
“Never mind,” he said. “Come over to-night and I'll be able to show you.”
That evening he led her out on the veranda to the telescope, and she found herself looking through it at the full moon.
“Somewhere up there in some valley you'll find that farm,” he teased.
Mrs. Hall looked inquiringly at them as they returned inside.