And what is that about flies?
Phil, Phil, you really mustn't use such slang." "I suppose it is slang; but it's an awfully nice expression anyway." "But what _does_ it mean ?" "Oh, you must see just by the sound of it what it means,--that there's no nonsense sticking out all over you like some of the girls.

It's a great compliment!" "Is it?
Well, I'm glad to know.

But Mr.Templestowe never used such a phrase, I'm sure." "No, he didn't," admitted Phil; "but that's what he meant." So the winter drew on,--the strange, beautiful Colorado winter,--with weeks of golden sunshine broken by occasional storms of wind and sand, or by skurries of snow which made the plains white for a few hours and then vanished, leaving them dry and firm as before.

The nights were often cold,--so cold that comfortables and blankets seemed all too few, and Clover roused with a shiver to think that presently it would be her duty to get up and start the fires so that Phil might find a warm house when he came downstairs.

Then, before she knew it, fires would seem oppressive; first one window and then another would be thrown up, and Phil would be sitting on the piazza in the balmy sunshine as comfortable as on a June morning at home.