They looked so like New England, he declared, that he felt as if he must
get a girl at once, and go and walk in the graveyard,--a pastime which he
remembered as universal in his native town. Various cakes and puddings
appeared to attest the industry of the housekeepers; and on the only wet
evening, when a wild thunder-gust was sweeping down the valley, they had a
wonderful candy-pull, and made enough to give all the cow-boys a treat.

It must not be supposed that all their time went in these domestic
pursuits. No, indeed. Mrs. Hope had brought her own side-saddle, and had
borrowed one for Clover; the place was full of horses, and not a day
passed without a long ride up or down the valley, and into the charming
little side canyons which opened from it. A spirited broncho, named
Sorrel, had been made over to Phil's use for the time of his stay, and he
was never out of the saddle when he could help it, except to eat and
sleep. He shared in the herders' wild gallops after stock, and though
Clover felt nervous about the risks he ran, whenever she took time to
think them over, he was so very happy that she had not the heart to
interfere or check his pleasure.

She and Mrs. Hope rode out with the gentlemen on the great day of the
round-up, and, stationed at a safe point a little way up the hillside,
watched the spectacle,--the plunging, excited herd, the cow-boys madly
galloping, swinging their long whips and lassos, darting to and fro to
head off refractory beasts or check the tendency to stampede. Both
Clarence and Geoffrey Templestowe were bold and expert riders; but the
Mexican and Texan herders in their employ far surpassed them. The ladies
had never seen anything like it. Phil and his broncho were in the midst of
things, of course, and had one or two tumbles, but nothing to hurt them;
only Clover was very thankful when it was all safely over.