"Poor fellow! In England too! You said he was English, didn't you?"

"Yes. She was married. Her husband was a clergyman down in Cornwall
somewhere. She was older than Geoff a good deal; but he was very fond of
her, and the news cut him up dreadfully."

"No wonder. It is horrible to hear such a thing when one is far from
home," observed Clover. She tried to realize how she should feel if word
came to St. Helen's of Katy's death, or Elsie's, or Johnnie's; but her
mind refused to accept the question. The very idea made her shiver.

"Poor fellow!" she said again; "what could you do for him, Clarence?"

"Not much. I'm a poor hand at comforting any one,--men generally are, I
guess. Geoff knows I'm sorry for him; but it takes a woman to say the
right thing at such times. We sit and smoke when the work's done, and I
know what he's thinking about; but we don't say anything to each other.
Now let's speak of something else. I want to settle about your coming to
High Valley."

"High Valley? Is that the name of your place?"

"Yes. I want you to see it. It's an awfully pretty place to my
thinking,--not so very much higher than this, but you have to climb a good
deal to get there. Can't you come? This is just the time,--raspberries
ripe, and lots of flowers wherever the beasts don't get at them. Phil can
have all the riding he wants, and it'll do poor Geoff lots of good to see
some one."

"It would be very nice indeed," doubtfully; "but who could we get to go