COPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR BY J. R. WHITE
SUNSET ON FLATHEAD LAKE
Sitting side by side with a warm blanket about them, they watched the sunset. The mountains were tipped in varying hues of purple and lavender. Streams of glowing reds and yellows burned at their bases like huge fairy fires. The clouds were delicate tints of pink and coral upon the softer white and grey. The tiny ripples over the broad expanse of water were an ever-changing kaleidoscope,—first a tender, blue sapphire, then an immense emerald, now an opal with its evasive colors beautifully blended. Soon the sun, like a great ball of rusted brass, slid down behind the mighty hills, leaving but the glowing embers of a smoldering day. Softly the vermillion changed into lavender, deepened into purple and fell into charred umber. All the western sky was but a blackened, cheerless grate, and another day vanished into ashes and oblivion.
“Was it not beautiful?” said the little watcher, as she looked into the soft, brown eyes of her companion. “Don’t you feel glad that you live here where everything is so beautiful?”
“Yes, dearie—I want to stay here—here—near the mountains, always!” And the child brushed away Bess’ tears, wondering why she should cry.
Oh! the reluctance with which good-byes were said the next morning as camp was broken up and all departed for home. Plans for next year were already projected and promises half made to come again. But who could know where all would be when again the autumn leaf should fall and the whir of wings should call?