"Do you suppose a Wellesley girl, accustomed steady to high thinkin', can't get along with a little plain livin' once in a while?
As for women folks, why can't Curly's girl take care of her?
Does a chance lady caller in this city need a _thousand_ women to entertain her?
And blankets--why, you know well enough, that blankets are better after sundown here than much fine linen.

Heart's Desire'll be here calm and confident after this brief pageantry has passed from our midst." As he spoke, he half turned and started, with a broken exclamation.

I followed his gaze.

The street was vacant, barren of the accustomed throng that usually awaited near the post-office the arrival of the infrequent stagecoach.

But there, at the mouth of the canon, almost under the edge of the deepening shadow from the purple-topped mountain, appeared the dusty top of the creeping vehicle that bore with it the fate of Heart's Desire.