Hilda Strafford: A California Story
9781465671424
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
THE day had come at last. Robert Strafford glanced around at the isolated spot which he had chosen for his ranch, and was seized with more terrible misgivings than had ever before overwhelmed him in moments of doubt. Scores of times he had tried to put himself in her place, and to look at the country with her eyes. Would it, could it, smile to her? He had put off her coming until the early spring, so that she might see this new strange land at its best, when the rains had begun to fall, and the grass was springing up, and plain and slope were donning a faint green garment toning each day to a richer hue, when tiny ferns were thrusting out their heads from the dry ground, and here and there a wild-flower arose, welcome herald of the bounty which Nature would soon be dispensing with generous hand, but after a long delay. Such a long delay, indeed, that a new-comer to Southern California might well think that Nature, so liberal in her gifts to other lands, had shown only scant favor to this child of hers, clothing her in dusty and unattractive attire, and refusing her many of the most usual graces. But when the long months of summer heat are over, she begins to work her miracle, and those who have eyes to see and hearts to understand, will learn how dearly she loves this land of sunshine, and how, in her own good time, she showers her jewels upon it. So just now, when this wonderful change was stealing over the country, Robert Strafford looked eagerly for the arrival of Hilda Lester, who had been engaged to him for more than three years, and who was at length able to break away from her home-ties and marry him; when there was a mystic glamour in the air, and a most caressing softness; when the lemon-trees were full of promise, and some of them full of plenty; when the little ranch, so carefully worked and so faithfully nursed, seemed at its very best, and well repaid Robert Strafford for his untiring labor. He sat on the bench in front of his barn, smoking his pipe and glancing with pride at his little estate on the slope of the hill. He loved it so much, that he had learnt to think it even beautiful, and it was only now and then that he had any serious misgivings about the impression it would produce on any one unaccustomed to the South Californian scenery. But now he was seized with overwhelming doubt, and he took his pipe from his mouth, and covered his tired-looking face with his hands. Nellie, the white pointer, stirred uneasily, and then got up and rubbed herself against him.
