“You’ll find it very comfortable at the Sherman, Miss, and I hope you’ll have a good night.  If you’ll come to me in the morning, I’ll explain about the baggage transfer.”

Clover thanked this obliging being again, and rejoined her party, who were patiently sitting where she had left them.

“Dear me!” said Mrs. Watson as the omnibus rolled off, “I had no idea that Denver was such a large place.  Street cars too!  Well, I declare!”

“And what nice shops!” said Clover, equally surprised.

Her ideas had been rather vague as to what was to be expected in the close neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains; but she knew that Denver had only existed a few years, and was prepared to find everything looking rough and unfinished.

“Why, they have restaurants here and jewellers’ shops!” she cried.  “Look, Phil, what a nice grocery!  We needn’t have packed all those oatmeal biscuits if only we had known.  And electric lights!  How wonderful!  But of course St. Helen’s is quite different.”

Their amazement increased when they reached the hotel, and were taken in a large dining-room to order dinner from a bill of fare which seemed to include every known luxury, from Oregon salmon and Lake Superior white-fish to frozen sherbets and California peaches and apricots.  But wonderment yielded to fatigue, and again as Clover fell asleep she was conscious of a deep depression.  What had she undertaken to do?  How could she do it?

But a night of sound sleep followed by such a morning of unclouded brilliance as is seldom seen east of Colorado banished these misgivings.  Courage rose under the stimulus of such air and sunshine.

“I must just live for each day as it comes,” said little Clover to herself, “do my best as things turn up, keep Phil happy, and satisfy Mrs. Watson,—­if I can,—­and not worry about to-morrows or yesterdays.  That is the only safe way, and I won’t forget if I can help it.”

With these wise resolves she ran down stairs, looking so blithe and bright that Phil cheered at the sight of her, and lost the long morning face he had got up with, while even Mrs. Watson caught the contagion, and became fairly hopeful and content.  A little leaven of good-will and good heart in one often avails to lighten the heaviness of many.

The distance between Denver and St. Helen’s is less than a hundred miles, but as the railroad has to climb and cross a range of hills between two and three thousand feet high, the journey occupies several hours.  As the train gradually rose higher and higher, the travellers began to get wide views, first of the magnificent panorama of mountains which lies to the northwest of Denver, sixty miles away, with Long’s Peak in the middle, and after crossing the crest of the “Divide,” where a blue little lake rimmed with wild-flowers sparkled in the sun, of the more southern ranges.  After a while they found themselves running parallel to a mountain