ppeared.

"Is Mrs. B---- at home?" they asked.

"This kitchen door; you go front door," requested Tom, politely.

The callers walked around the house to the proper door, rang, and
waited. After a suitable interval Tom appeared again.

"Is Mrs. B---- at home?" repeated the visitors.

"No, Mrs. B---- she gone out," Tom informed them. The proper
ceremonials had been fulfilled.

To one who appreciates what he can do, and how well he does it; who can
value absolute faithfulness and honesty; who confesses a sneaking
fondness for the picturesque as nobly exemplified in a clean and
starched or brocaded heathen; who understands how to balance the
difficult poise, supervision, and interference, the Chinese servant is
the best on the continent. But to one who enjoys supervising every step
or who likes well-trained ceremony, "good form" in minutiae, and the
deference of our kind of good training the heathen is likely to prove
disappointing. When you ring your friend's door-bell, you are quite apt
to be greeted by a cheerful and smiling "hullo!" I think most
Californians rather like the entirely respectful but freshly
unconventional relationship that exists between the master and his
Chinese servant. I do.[H]

CHAPTER XV

THE LAST HUNT

Of all ranch visits the last day neared. Always we forgot it until the
latest possible moment; for we did not like to think of it. Then, when
the realization could be no longer denied, we planned a grand day just
to finish up on. The telephone's tiny, thin voice returned acceptances
from distant neighbours; so bright and early we waited at the
cross-roads rendezvous.

And from the four directions they came, jogging along in carts or
spring-wagons, swaying swiftly in automobiles whose brass flashed back
the early sun. As each vehicle drew up, the greetings flew, charged
electrically with the dry, chaffing humour of the out of doors. When we
finally climbed the fence into the old cornfield we were almost a dozen.
There were the Captain, Uncle Jim, and myself from the ranch; and T and
his three sons and two guests from Stockdale ranch; the sporting parson
of the entire neighbourhood, and Dodge and his three beautiful dogs.

Spread out in a rough line we tramped away through the dried and
straggling ranks of the Egyptian corn. Quail buzzed all around us like
angry hornets. We did not fire a shot. Each had his limit of twenty-five
still before him, and each wanted to have all the fun