ne by drinking a draft of her glittering
waters from a dirty tin cup which some benevolent cold-water man has
suspended from a tree near the spring. The bank leading down into the
stream is so steep that people generally dismount and lead their
animals across it, but F. declared that I was so light that the horse
could easily carry me, and insisted upon my keeping the saddle. Of
course, like a dutiful wife, I had nothing to do but to obey. So I
grasped firmly the reins, shut my eyes, and committed myself to the
Fates that take care of thistle-seeds, and lo! the next moment I found
myself safely on the other side of the brook, my pretty steed--six
weeks ago he was an Indian pony running wild on the prairie--curveting
about and arching his elegant neck, evidently immensely proud of the
grace and ease with which he had conveyed his burden across the brook.
In a few moments we alighted at the store, which is owned by some
friends of F., whom we found looking like so many great daisies in
their new shirts of pink calico, which had been donned in honor of our
expected arrival.

The Junction is the most beautiful of all the bars. From the store one
can walk nearly a mile down the river quite easily. The path is
bordered by a row of mingled oaks and firs, the former garlanded with
mistletoe, and the latter embroidered with that exquisitely beautiful
moss which I tried to describe in one of my first letters.

The little Kanaka woman lives here. I went to see her. She is quite
pretty, with large lustrous eyes, and two great braids of hair which
made me think of black satin cables, they were so heavy and massive.
She has good teeth, a sweet smile, and a skin not much darker than that
of a French brunette. I never saw any creature so proud as she, almost
a child herself, was of her baby. In jest, I asked her to give it to
me, and really was almost alarmed at the vehement burst of tears with
which she responded to my request. Her husband explained the cause of
her distress. It is a superstition among her people that he who refuses
to give another anything, no matter what,--there are no exceptions
which that other may ask for,--will be overwhelmed with the most
dreadful misfortunes. Her own parents had parted with her for the same
reason. Her pretty girlish face soon resumed its smiles when I told her
that I was in jest, and, to console me for the disappointment which she
thought I must feel at not obtaining her little brown treasur