ddenly as the strange vehicle was abreast of him,
and forcing them to pass him at full speed, with the result already
chronicled. When they had vanished in the darkness, Mr. Wynn, with a
heart overflowing with Christian thankfulness and universal benevolence,
wheeled round, and drove back to the hotel he had already passed. To
pull up at the veranda with a stentorian shout, to thump loudly at the
deserted bar, to hilariously beat the panels of the landlord's door,
and commit a jocose assault and battery upon that half-dresssed and
half-awakened man, was eminently characteristic of Wynn, and part of his
amiable plans that morning.

"Something to wash this wood smoke from my throat, Brother Carter, and
about as much again to prop open your eyes," he said, dragging Carter
before the bar, "and glasses round for as many of the boys as are up
and stirring after a hard-working Christian's rest. How goes the honest
publican's trade, and who have we here?"

"Thar's Judge Robinson and two lawyers from Sacramento, Dick Curson over
from Yolo," said Carter, "and that ar young Injin yarb doctor from the
Carquinez Woods. I reckon he's jist up--I noticed a light under his door
as I passed."

"He's my man for a friendly chat before breakfast," said Wynn. "You
needn't come up. I'll find the way. I don't want a light; I reckon my
eyes ain't as bright nor as young as his, but they'll see almost as far
in the dark--he! he!" And, nodding to Brother Carter, he strode
along the passage, and with no other introduction than a playful and
preliminary "Boo!" burst into one of the rooms. Low, who by the light
of a single candle was bending over the plates of a large quarto, merely
raised his eyes and looked at the intruder. The young man's natural
imperturbability, always exasperating to Wynn, seemed accented that
morning by contrast with his own over-acted animation.

"Ah ha!--wasting the midnight oil instead of imbibing the morning dews,"
said Father Wynn archly, illustrating his metaphor with a movement of
his hand to his lips. "What have we here?"

"An anonymous gift," replied Low simply, recognizing the father of
Nellie by rising from his chair. "It's a volume I've longed to possess,
but never could afford to buy. I cannot imagine who sent it to me."

Wynn was for a moment startled by the thought that this recipient of
valuable gifts might have influential friends. But a glance at the bare
room, which looked like a camp, and the strange,