By six they were on their way to breakfast with their fellow-campers at Sagebrush—Vivian, incredulous that the night was really over and that she had slept; Carver, secretly much disturbed over his protecting powers; Virginia, eager, radiant, buoyant. 179 Donald waited for them on the other side of the Canyon Path, and watched their safe transit. Aunt Nan and the others were ready at the camp with welcomes and words of genuine admiration.
“I’d have been worried to death about you,” said Priscilla with her arm around Virginia, “if it hadn’t been for Carver’s being there. Yes, I would, Virginia. I don’t care how much you know about camping. A man’s being around makes a heap of difference. You know it does!”
“Of course,” agreed the loyal Virginia.
But Carver Standish III drank his coffee in silence, glad for once that the cup was large enough to hide his face.
CHAPTER XII
THE ROMAN EMPEROR
The late August days came relentlessly on, each in turn being seized by the Vigilantes and placed in a treasure-house of never-to-be-forgotten joys. The month which they had planned in June was lengthening into six weeks. Mr. Hunter and Virginia had insisted and Aunt Nan seemed very loath to go. Already they were quite Westernized. They “rustled” and “cached” and “packed” things without even stopping to think, and r’s were unmistakably creeping into Priscilla’s strictly Bostonian speech. What would the Winthrop family say?
Every day the country grew lovelier. A veil of bronze and purple was being laid softly over the foot-hills, and the waiting wheat stood golden. Day after day the sun rose in glory, and after a cloudless journey set in a golden sea. In the woods the berries of the kinnikinnick grew red, and on the 181 lawn the mountain ash trees stood clothed in holiday attire. The air was clear and bracing; the nights were cold. One morning the highest mountain was white with snow, which, when the sun rose higher, hurried away, as though it had told a secret. September was on the way, and these were her forerunners.