XL
THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
A YEAR has passed, and the autumn of 1853 has arrived. It has been a most strenuous twelve months on the Ranch of the Whispering Firs. Rapid changes, unlooked-for vicissitudes, improvements upon the virgin soil, annoying delays, and happy reunions have made the seasons fly.
The house was now surrounded by a cultivated field, through the centre of which a broad, tree-lined avenue wound upward from the grade below. The cattle whose labor had saved the lives of the immigrants the previous year were now sleek and fat.
Behind the dwelling rose the foot-hills of the Cascade Mountains, their sides and summits clothed with the majestic forest of pointed firs from which the ranch had derived its name. Still higher up, and yet up, above the serrated steeps, loomed hoary old Mount Hood, spreading his snowy robes over the misty lesser heights, the top of his white turban hidden among the clouds, his flowing beard resting upon the pointed crests of the most distant trees.
The music of machinery filled the air. The sawmill was at its best, running day and night to supply the everincreasing demand for lumber. The original plant had already been greatly increased.
"It is a glorious thing to be alive!" said Jean, pausing in the perusal of a letter. "The air is as balmy as springtime. What a blessed change it will be for Ashton, who has seen nothing but sagebrush, bald mountains, jackrabbits, sage-hens, Indians, immigrants, and cacti the summer long! Oh, my darling, it is a whole year since our first meeting!
