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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"The Call of the Canyon"


And so Carley's mind drifted on until at last she succumbed to drowsiness.

A voice pierced her dreams of home, of warmth and comfort. Something sharp,
cold, and fragrant was scratching her eyes. She opened them. Glenn stood
over her, pushing a sprig of cedar into her face.
"Carley, the day is far spent," he said, gayly. "We want to roll up your
bedding. Will you get out of it?"
"Hello, Glenn! What time is it?" she replied.
"It's nearly six."
"What! . . . Do you expect me to get up at that ungodly hour?"
"We're all up. Flo's eating breakfast. It's going to be a bad day, I'm
afraid. And we want to get packed and moving before it starts to rain."
"Why do girls leave home?" she asked, tragically.
"To make poor devils happy, of course," he replied, smiling down upon her.
That smile made up to Carley for all the clamoring sensations of stiff,
sore muscles. It made her ashamed that she could not fling herself into
this adventure with all her heart. Carley essayed to sit up. "Oh, I'm
afraid my anatomy has become disconnected! . . . Glenn, do I look a
sight?" She never would have asked him that if she had not known she could
bear inspection at such an inopportune moment.


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