water, Clover thought, as it curved and bent and swayed this way and that
on its downward course as if moved by some merry, capricious instinct,
like a child dancing as it goes. Regiments or great ferns grew along its
banks, and immense thickets of wild roses of all shades, from deep
Jacqueminot red to pale blush-white. Here and there rose a lonely spike of
yucca, and in the little ravines to right and left grew in the crevices of
the rocks clumps of superb straw-colored columbines four feet high.

Looking up, Clover saw above the tree-tops strange pinnacles and spires
and obelisks which seemed air-hung, of purple-red and orange-tawny and
pale pinkish gray and terra cotta, in which the sunshine and the
cloud-shadows broke in a multiplicity of wonderful half-tints. Above them
was the dazzling blue of the Colorado sky. She drew a long, long breath.

"So this is a canyon," she said. "How glad I am that I have lived to see
one."

"Yes, this is a canyon," Dr. Hope replied. "Some of us think it _the_
canyon; but there are dozens of others, and no two of them are alike. I'm
glad you are pleased with this, for it's my favorite. I wish your father
could see it."

Clover hardly understood what he said she was so fascinated and absorbed.
She looked up at the bright pinnacles, down at the flowers and the sheen
of the river-pools and the mad rush of its cascades, and felt as though
she were in a dream. Through the dream she caught half-comprehended
fragments of conversation from the seat behind. Mrs. Watson was giving her
impressions of the scenery.

"It's pretty, I suppose," she remarked; "but it's so very queer, and I'm