LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
later she would be found back in the same place. Losing patience at last, Tom said in disgust: “Well, stay there, then, you confounded old trespasser! You look ridiculous enough, perched up there, with your hat on and your coat-tails hanging over that box. You have just taken this up as a fad, and you’ll mighty soon be sick of it.”
If “The Doctor” heard, she made no sign, but continued to gaze steadfastly toward the Pacific Ocean, and never turned a feather. Having won the battle, she settled down to business in a resolute way; and we thought that perhaps, after all, she wasn’t so flighty as she looked.
A week later Tom said, “You can’t guess whom I saw up in the woods to-day.”
“Robin Hood?”
“No.”
“Friar Tuck?”
“No; one more guess and you’re out.”
After deep thought I hazarded, “Countess Irma and her little wood-carver.”
“Oh, you’re away off! It was Dr. Mary Walker.”
“Good gracious! What was she doing away up there?”
“Sauntering along the brook, with a gay bevy of friends, picking up pebbles and grasses, seemingly quite care-free and joyous.”
After this she was seen every day stalking over the fields. Great was our surprise when we found she
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