wind, which was like cool flower-scented wine, was all that broke the
stillness of the high places.

"To think I'm so much nearer heaven
Than when I was a boy,"

misquoted Clover, as she sat on the rear platform of the car, with Poppy,
and Thurber Wade.

"Are you sure your head doesn't ache? This elevation plays the mischief
with some people. My mother has taken to her berth with ice on her
temples."

"Headache! No, indeed. This air is too delicious. I feel as though I could
dance all the way from here to the Black Canyon."

"You don't look as if your head ached, or anything," said Mr. Wade,
staring at Clover admiringly. Her cheeks were pink with excitement, her
eyes full of light and exhilaration.

"Oh dear! we are beginning to go down," she cried, watching one of the
beautiful peaks of the Sangre de Cristos as it dipped out of sight. "I
think I could find it in my heart to cry, if it were not that to-morrow
we are coming up again."

So down, down, down they went. Dusk slowly gathered about them; and the
white-gloved butler set the little tables, and brought in broiled chicken
and grilled salmon and salad and hot rolls and peaches, and they were all
very hungry. And Clover did not cry, but fell to work on her supper with
an excellent appetite, quite unconscious that they were speeding through