midsummer scorchers, that would have burned her fair English face to a blister.

Mr. Harshaw seemed to think she would be tired, wearing her hand continually in the air, and suggested various mechanical substitutes a string attached to the hat-trimming, a scarf tied over her head; but a snubbing was all the reward he got for his sympathy.

<< When this hand is tired I take the other one," she said airily.

We lunched at Ten Mile, by the railroad track. Do you remember that desolate place? The Oregon Short Line used to leave us there at a little station called Kuna. There is no Kuna now; the station-house is gone; the station-keeper's little children are buried between four stakes on the bare hill-diphtheria, I think it was. Miss Kitty asked what the stakes were there for. Tom did n't like to tell her, so he said some traveler had made a «cache» there of something he could n't carry with him, and the stakes were to mark the spot till his return.

« And will nobody disturb the cache?» asked Miss Kitty. I could n't bear to hear them. They are graves,» I whispered. «Two little children-the station-keeper's-all they had.» And she asked no more questions.

Mr. Harshaw had got possession of the canteen, and so was able to serve the maiden, both when she drank and when she held out her rosy fingers to be sprinkled, he tilting a little water on them slowly-with such provoking slowness that she chid him; then he let it come in gulps, and she chid him more, for spattering her shoes. She could play my Lady Disdain very prettily, only she is something too much in earnest at present for the game to be a pretty one to watch. I feel like calling her down from her pedestal of virgin wrath, if only for the sake of us peaceful old folks, who don't care to be made the stamping-ground for their little differences.

The horses were longer at their lunch than we, and Miss Kitty requested her traveling-bag. «And now,» she said, "I will get rid of this fiend of a hat,» whereas, she had steadily protested for miles that she did n't mind it in the least. She took out of her bag a steamer-cap, and when she had put it on I could see that poor Harshaw dared not trust himself to look at her, her fair face exposed, and so very fair, in its tender, soft coloring, against that grim, wind-beaten waste of dust and sage.

I shall skip the scenery on the road to Walter's Ferry, partly because we could n't see it for the dust; and if we had seen it, I

would not waste it upon you, an army woman. But Walter's Ferry was a hard-looking place when we crawled in last night out of the howling, dirt-throwing wind.

The little hand-raised poplars about the ferry-house were shivering and tugging and straining their thin necks in the gale, the windows so loaded with dust that we could barely see if there were lights inside. We hooted and we howled, -the men did,-and the ferrykeeper came out and stared at us in blank amazement that we should be wanting supper and beds. As if we could have wanted anything else at that place except to cross the river, which we don't do. We go up on this side. We came down the hill merely to sleep at the ferry-house, the night being too bad for a road camp.

The one guest-room at the Ferry that could be called private was given to Kitty and me; but we used it as a sitting-room till bedtime, there being nowhere else to go but into the common room where the teamsters congregate.

We stood and looked at each other, in our common disguise of dust, and tried to find our feet and other members that came awake gradually after the long stupor of the ride. There was a heap of sage-brush on the hearth laid ready for lighting. I touched a match to it, and Kitty dropped on her knees in front of its riotous warmth and glow. Suddenly she sprang up, and stared about her, sniffing and catching her breath. I had noticed it too; it fairly took one by the throat, the gruesome odor.

"What is this beastly smell? » She spoke right out, as our beloved English do. Tom came in at that moment, and she turned upon him as though he were the author of our misery.

« What has happened in this horrid room? We can't stay here, you know!» The proposition admitted of no argument. She refused to draw another breath except through her pocket-handkerchief.

By this time I had recognized the smell. «It 's nothing but sage-brush,» I cried; «<the cleanest, sterilest thing that grows!»

"It may be clean,» said Kitty, «but it smells like the bottomless pit. I must have a breath of fresh air.» The only window in the room was a four-pane sash fixed solid in the top of the outside door. Tom said we should have the sweepings of the Snake River valley in there in one second if we opened that door. But we did, and the wind played havoc with our fire, and half the country blew in, he said, and with it came Cecil, his head bent low, his arms full of rugs and dust-cloaks.

as

«You angel!» I cried, «have you been shaking those things?»

"He's given himself the hay-fever,» said Tom, heartlessly watching him while he sneezed and sneezed, and wept dust into his handkerchief.

«Does n't the man do those things?» Miss Kitty whispered.

<<What, our next Populist governor? Not much!» Tom replied. Kitty of course did not understand; it was hopeless to begin upon that theme of our labor aristocracy; so we sent the men away, and made ourselves as presentable as we could for supper.

I need not dwell upon it; it was the usual Walter's Ferry supper. The little woman who cooked it-the third she had cooked that evening-served it as well, plodding back and forth from the kitchen stove to the diningroom table, a little white-headed toddler clinging to her skirts, and whining to be put to bed. Out of regard for her look of general discouragement we ate what we could of the food without yielding to the temptation to joke about it, which was a cross to Tom at least.

«Do you know how the farmers sow their seed in the Snake River valley?» he asked Miss Kitty. She raised eyes of confiding inquiry to his face.

<< They prepare the land in the usual way; then they go about five miles to windward of the plowed field and let fly their seed; the wind does the rest. It would be of no use, you see, to sow it on the spot where it's meant to lie; they would have to go into the next county to look for their crop, top-soil and all.»

Now whenever Tom makes a statement Miss Kitty looks first at me to see how I am taking it.

It is a fair, pale morning, as still as a picture, after last night's orgy of wind and dust. The maiden is making her first sketch on American soil-of the rope-ferry, with the boat on this side. She is seated in perfect unconscious ness on an inverted pine box-empty, I trust -which bears the startling announcement, in legible lettering on its side, that it holds «500 smokeless nitro-powder cartridges.» Now she looks up disgusted, to see the boat swing off and slowly warp over to the other side. The picturesque blocks and cables in the foreground have hopelessly changed position, and continue changing; but she consoles herself by making marginal notes of the passengers returning by the boat-a six-horse freightteam from Silver City, and a band of horses driven by two realistic cow-boys from anywhere. The driver of the freight-team has a

young wildcat aboard, half starved, haggard, and crazed with captivity. He stops, and pulls out his wretched pet. The cow-boys stop; everybody stops; they make a ring, while the dogs of the ferry-house are invited to step up and examine for themselves. The little cat spits and rages at the end of its blood-stained rope. It is not a pretty show, and I am provoked with our men for not turning their backs upon it.

SUNDAY, at Broadlands. From Walter's Ferry, day before yesterday, we climbed back upon the main road, which crosses the plateau of the Snake, cutting off a great bend of the river, to see it again far below in the bottom of the Grand Cañon.

The alkali growth is monotonous here; but there was a world of beauty and caprice in the forms of the seed-pods dried upon their stalks. Most of these pretty little purses were empty. Their treasure went, like the savings of a maiden aunt, when the idle wind got hold of it. There is an almost humorous ingenuity in the pains Nature has taken to secure the propagation of some of the meanest of her plant-children. The most worthless little vagabond seeds have wings or fans to fly with, or self-acting bomb-receptacles that burst and empty their contents (which nobody wants) upon the liberal air, or claws or prickers to catch on with to anything that goes. And once they have caught on, they are harder to get rid of than a Canadian quarter.

«And do you call this a desert? » cries Miss Kitty. «Why, millions of creatures live here! Look at the footprints of all the little beasties. They must eat and drink.»

«That is the cheek of us humans,» said Tom. «We call our forests solitudes because we have never shown up there before. Precious little we were missed. This desert subsisted its own population, and asked no favors of irrigation, till man came and overstocked it, and upset its domestic economies. When the sheep-men and the cattle-men came with their foreign mouths to fill, the natives had to scatter and forage for food, and trot back and forth to the river for drink. They have to travel miles now to one they went before. Hence all these desert thoroughfares.»>

And he showed us in the dust the track of a lizard, a kangaroo-mouse, and a horned toad. We could see for ourselves Bre'r Jack-rabbit and Sis' Gopher skipping away in the greasewood. The horses and cattle had their own broad-beaten roads converging from far away toward an occasional break

in the cañon wall, where the thirsty tracks went down.

We plodded along, and having with much deliberation taken the wrong road, we found ourselves about nightfall at the bottom of the cañon, in a perfect cul-de-sac. The bluffs ahead of us crowded close to the river, stretching their rocky knees straight down into deep water, and making no lap at all for our wagon to go over. And now, with this sweet prospect before us, it came on steadily to rain. The men made camp in the slippery darkness, while we sat in the wagon, warm and dry, and thanked our stars there were still a few things left that men could do without our aid or competition. Presently a lantern flashed out, and spots of light shifted over them as they slaved -pounding tent-pegs, and scraping stones away from places where our blankets were to be spread, hacking and hewing among the wet willows, and grappling with stovepipes and tent-poles; and the harder they worked the better their spirits seemed to be.

"I wish some of the people who used to know Cecil Harshaw in England could see him now," said Kitty.

<< What did he do in England?» I asked. « Well, he did n't hammer stovepipes and carry kitchen-boxes and cut fire-wood, you know.»

"Don't you like to see men use their muscle?» I asked her. «Very few of them are reflective to any purpose at his age.»

<< Why, how old, or how young, do you take him to be?»>

"I think you spoke of him as a boy, if I remember.

<< If I called him a boy, it was out of charity for his behavior. He's within six months of my own age.»

"And you don't call yourself a girl any longer?» I laughed.

"It's always (girls) and (men,>» she said. "If Cecil Harshaw is not a man now, he never will be.»

I did n't know, I said, what the point at issue was between us. I thought Cecil Harshaw was very much a man, as men go, and I saw nothing, frankly, so very far amiss with his behavior.

«It's very kind of you, Mrs. Daly, to defend him, I am sure. I suppose he could do no less than propose to me, after he had brought me out to marry a man who did n't seem to be quite ready; and if it had to be done, it was best to do it quickly.»

So that was what she had been threshing out between whiles! I might have tried to answer her, but now the little tent among the

willows began to glow with fire and candlelight, and a dark shape loomed against it. It was Cecil Harshaw, bareheaded, with an umbrella, coming to escort us in to supper.

I never saw such a pair of roses as Kitty wore in her cheeks that night, nor the girl herself in such a gale. Tom gave me a triumphant glance across the table, as if to say, See how the medicine works! It was either the beginning of the cure, or else it was a feverish reaction.

I shall have to hurry over our little incidents: how the wagon could n't go on by way of the shore, and had to flounder back over the rocks, and crawl out of the cañon to the upper road; how Kitty and I set out vaingloriously to walk to Broadlands by the rivertrail, and Harshaw set out to walk with us; and how Kitty made it difficult for him to walk with both of us by staving on ahead, with the step of a young Atalanta. I was so provoked with her that I let her take her pace and I took mine. Fancy a woman of my age racing a girl of her build and constitution seven miles to Broadlands! Poor Harshaw was cruelly torn between us, but he manfully stuck to his duty. He would not abandon the old lady even for the pleasure of running after the young one, though I absolved him many times, and implored him to leave me to my fate. I take pride in recording his faithfulness, and I see now why I have always liked him. He wears well, particularly when things are most harassing.

It certainly was hard upon him when I gave out completely, toiling through the sand, and sat down to rest on the door-stone of a placer-miner's cabin (cabin closed and miner gone), and nowhere through the hot morning stillness could we catch a sound or a sight of the runaway. I could almost hear his heart beat, and his eyes and ears and all his keen young senses were on a stretch after that ridiculous girl. But he kept up a show of interest in my remarks, and paid every patient attention to my feeble wants, without an idea of how long it might be my pleasure to sit there. It was not long, however it may have seemed to him, before we heard the wagonwheels booming down a little side-cañon between the hills. The team had managed to drag it up through a scrubby gulch that looked like no thoroughfare, but which opened into a very fair way out of our difficulties.

"When we had come within sight of Broadlands Ferry, all aboard except Kitty, and still not a sign or a sound of her, our hearts began to soften toward that wilful girl.

Tom requested Harshaw to jump out and

see if he could n't round up his countrywoman. But Harshaw rather haughtily resigned-in favor of a better man, he said. Then Tom stood up in the wagon and gave the camp call, «Yee-ee-ip! yee-ip, ye-ip!» a brazen, barbarous hoot. Kitty clapped both hands to her ears when she was first introduced to it, but it did not fetch her now. Tom «<yee-iped » again, and as we listened there she was, strolling toward us through the greasewood, with the face of a May morning! She would n't give us the satisfaction of seeing her run, but her flushed cheeks, damp temples, and quick, sighing breath betrayed her. She had been running fast enough.

<< Kitty,» I said severely, «there are rattlesnakes among those rocks.>>

«Are there?» she answered serenely. «<But I was n't looking for rattlesnakes, you know. See what lovely things I did find! I've got the prospecting fever already.»>

She had filled her pockets with specimens of obsidian, jaspers, and chalcedonies, of colors most beautiful, with a deep-dyed opaqueness, a shell-fracture, and a silken polish like jade. And she consulted us about them very prettily-the little fraud! Of course she was instantly forgiven.

But I notice that since our arrival at Broadlands Harshaw has not troubled her with his attentions. They might be the most indifferent strangers, for all that his manner implies. And if she is not pleased with the change, she ought to be, for she has made her wishes plain.

Mary Hallock Foote.

"What said he that you seem so sad, O fisher of the sea?

(Alack! I know it was my love, Who fain would speak to me!)»

«He said, Beware a woman's mouth

A rose that bears a thorn.>>>>

« Ah, me! these lips shall smile no more That gave my lover scorn.»>

«He said, Beware a woman's eyes.

They pierce you with their death.>>>

«Then falling tears shall make them blind

That robbed my dear of breath.>>

«He said, Beware a woman's hair

A serpent's coil of gold.»»

<< Then will I shear the cruel locks

That crushed him in their fold.>>

«He said, (Beware a woman's heart As you would shun the reef.>» «So let it break within my breast, And perish of my grief.»>

«He raised his hands; a woman's name Thrice bitterly he cried:

My net had parted with the strain;
He vanished in the tide.>>

Dora Sigerson.

WE

E first met in Antwerp, in the classrooms of the famous academy. I was painting and blaguing, as one paints and blagues in the storm-and-stress period of one's artistic development. It had been my good fortune to begin my studies in Paris, where, in the Atelier Gleyre, I had cultivated the essentially French art of chaffing, known by the name of «la blague parisienne,» and I now was able to give my less lively Flemish friends and fellow-students the full benefit of my experience. Many pleasant recollections bound me to Paris, so when I heard one day that a "nouveau » had arrived straight from my old Atelier Gleyre I was not a little impatient to make his acquaintance.

VOL. LII.-14-15.

The newcomer was Du Maurier. I sought him out, and, taking it for granted that he was a Frenchman, I addressed him in French. We were soon engaged in lively conversation, asking and answering questions about comrades in Paris, and sorting the threads that associated us both with the same place. «Did you know un nommé Poynter?» he asked, exquisitely Frenchifying the name for my benefit. I mentally translated this into equally exquisite English, my version naturally being a man called Poynter.» Later on an American came up, with whom I exchanged a few words in his and my native tongue. <<What the deuce are you? English?» broke in Du Maurier. «And what the deuce are you? » I re

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