and tears came into her eyes. "You don't know how homesick I've
been," she said, feeling it more and more every minute. "I feel as
if I'd never really drawn a full breath since I went away!"

"I can't live in cities," Alix said, simply. "Peter has a house,
you know, in the city," she added, nodding toward the hilly
silhouette of San Francisco, as the boat ploughed steadily past
it. "We were there one winter, and in a way it was pleasant. It
was easier, too. But more than a year ago we came back to the
valley, and I think it will be a long time before we want to leave
it again!"

"I can't get used to the idea of you and Peter--married!" Cherry
smiled.

"We're well used to it," Alix declared, smiling, too. But a little
sigh stabbed through the smile a second later. Cherry's exquisite
eyes grew sympathetic; she suspected from the letter Alix had
written that there would be no nursery needed in the mountain
cabin for awhile, and she knew that to baby-loving Alix this would
be a bitter cross.

"Well, you see I've not seen you since the month Daddy died!"
Cherry reminded her. They fell to talking of their father; drifted
to Anne and Anne's limitations and complacencies. "And is it funny
to you to be a rich man's wife?" Cherry pursued.

"Peter's not rich," Alix answered, laughing. "We have enough, and
more than enough, and if I HAD ambitions about rugs and linen and
furs, I could have them! But unfortunately neither one of us is