I wanted to amount to something; I was absolutely ashamed of my general uselessness, and I came near writing to dad and telling him so.
The worst of it was that I didn't know just what it was I wanted to do, except ride over to that little pinnacle just out from King's Highway, and watch for Beryl King; that, of course, was out of the question, and maudlin, anyway.
On the third day after, as Frosty and I were riding circle quite silently and moodily together, we rode up into a little coulee on the southwestern side of White Divide, and came quite unexpectedly upon a little picnic-party camped comfortably down by the spring where we had meant to slake our own thirst.

Of course, it was the Kings' house-party; they were the only luxuriously idle crowd in the country.
Edith and her mother greeted me with much apparent joy, but, really, I felt sorry for Frosty; all that saved him from recognition then was the providential near-sightedness of Mrs.Loroman.I observed that he was careful not to come close enough to the lady to run any risk.
Aunt Lodema tilted her chin at me, and Beryl--to tell the truth, I couldn't make up my mind about Beryl.

When I first rode up to them, and she looked at me, I fancied there was a welcome in her eyes; after that there was anything else you like to name.

I looked several times at her to make sure, but I couldn't tell any more what she was thinking than one can read the face of a Chinaman.

(That isn't a pretty comparison, I know, but it gives my meaning, for, of all humans, Chinks are about the hardest to understand or read.) I was willing, however, to spend a good deal of time studying the subject of her thoughts, and got off my horse almost as soon as Mrs.Loroman and Edith invited me to stop and eat lunch with them.
That Weaver fellow was not present, but another man, whom they introduced as Mr.Tenbrooke, was sitting dolefully on a rock, watching a maid unpacking eatables.