Take me to see your little gray home in the West.

Or is it gray ?" He laughed.

"Why, yes, it's gray, just about.

The logs have bleached some." Glenn led her away up a trail that climbed between bowlders, and meandered on over piny mats of needles under great, silent, spreading pines; and closer to the impondering mountain wall, where at the base of the red rock the creek murmured strangely with hollow gurgle, where the sun had no chance to affect the cold damp gloom; and on through sweet-smelling woods, out into the sunlight again, and across a wider breadth of stream; and up a slow slope covered with stately pines, to a little cabin that faced the west.
"Here we are, sweetheart," said Glenn.

"Now we shall see what you are made of." Carley was non-committal as to that.