daintily suggesting efficiency in her practical toggery; Thora more the Amazon than ever, though a very modern version. Both had acquired a heavier coat of tan. Thora was brown, the "slimsy lady" "gilded by the sim."
"We were planting the seeds we brought with us," said Mary Burrows. "Vegetables and flowers, the old homey flowers, though the valley is fairly gorgeous with bloom. And there are lupines, too, giants to the ones that grew at home, a marvellous purple bloom on stalks that are—as tall as you are. But, now that you've come, we'll stop and become feminine. As a matter of fact, I am glad to. Thora makes me ashamed when I compare my work with hers and I am tired trying to save my face."
"Don't change your things," said Sheridan. "Come down and see your front door. It is all finished."
The glow of delight on her face fully repaid him.
"That was more than just thoughtful of you," she said gravely. "It was nice, the nicest thing I have had done for me in many a day, barring Thora, who is always doing those things. You are a true westerner, Mr. Sheridan."
She would have included Jackson but Thora had taken him off to see her gardening. Jackson had foolishly assumed a knowledge of the craft and Thora had instantly elevated him to the degree of expert, a height from which he was destined to fall heavily before long.
"I am hardly a westerner," answered Sheridan, "except in spirit."
