Just because I love her and want her to be happy, off I
go to your Aunt Amelia to live with her. She's poor, and I'll still have
someone to boss as I've bossed you. I never knew how much I loved Amelia
till she got sick last year when everything terrible was happening here.
I'm going, Orlando--
Two birds hopping on one branch
Would kill the joy of Slow Down Ranch--
"There, I made that up on the moment. It's true, even if it is poetry."
"It isn't poetry, mother," was the reply, and there was an ironical look
in Orlando's eyes. "Poetry's the truth of life," he hastened to add
carefully, "and it's not poetry to say that you could be a kill-joy."
The little lady tossed her head. "Well, you'll never have a chance to
prove it, for I'm taking the express east on the night of your wedding.
That's settled. Amelia needs me, and I'm going to her. . . . Your wedding
present will be the ranch and a hundred thousand dollars," she added.
"You're the sun-dried fruit of Paradise, Mother," Orlando said, taking
her by the arms.
"I heard the Young Doctor call me a bird of Paradise once," she returned.
"People don't know how sharp my ears are. . . . But I never stored it up
against him. Taste is born in you, and if people haven't got it in the
cradle, they never have it. I suppose his mother went around in a black
alpaca and wore her hair like a wardress in a jail.
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