They were a day out from Vancouver--a day
during which Desire had sat upon the observation platform, drugged
with wonder and beauty. She had known mountains all her life. They
were dear and familiar, and the sound of rushing water was in her
blood. But these heights and depths, these incredible valleys, these
ever-climbing, piling hills pushing brown shoulders through their
million pines, the dizzy, twisting track and the constant marvel of
the man-made train which braved it, held her spellbound and almost
speechless.
Fortunately, Aunt Caroline was indisposed and had remained all day
in the privacy of their reserved compartment. Only one such
reservation had been available and the men of the party had been
compelled to content themselves with upper berths in the next car.
To Desire, who presented that happy combination, a good traveller
still uncloyed by travel, every deft arrangement of the comfortable
train provided matter for curiosity and interest--the little ladders
for the upstair berths, the tiny reading-lamps, the paper bags for
one's new hat, the queer little soaps and drinking cups in sealed
oil paper--all these brought their separate thrill. And then there
was the inexhaustible interest of the travellers themselves. When
night had fallen and the great Outside withdrew itself, she turned
with eager eyes to the shifting world around her, a human world even
more absorbing than the panorama of the hills.
What was there, for instance, about that handsome old lady, from
Golden (fascinating name!) which permitted her to act as if the
whole train were her private suite and all the porters servants of
her person? She was the most autocratic old lady Desire had ever
seen and far younger and more alert than the tired-looking daughter
who accompanied her.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164