did not keep you
awake. They are very bad."

"I believe they are, but I received a friendly warning from Mr. Polk and
rubbed the leather which protects my skull with vinegar. I think it was
superfluous, but at all events I slept undisturbed."

Magdalena regarded his skin attentively, much to his amusement. "It is
thick," she said, feeling that she could not honestly reassure him, but
quite positive that he expected her to answer.

He laughed heartily. "Oh!" he said. "What a pity you must 'come out'! I
am a convert to the Old-Californian system. But here are the horses."

The improvised groom, a sulky and intensely self-conscious stable-boy,
led up the horses, and Magdalena put her foot in Trennahan's hand.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, with a note of real admiration in his voice; and
Magdalena nearly fell over the other side of her horse.

They cantered off sharply, the boy following a good thirty yards behind,
feeling uncommonly sheepish when he was not thinking angrily of his
neglected chores. It was not thought good form in Menlo Park to put on
the trappings of Circumstance. Mrs. Washington drove a phaeton and took
a boy in the rumble to open the gates; but the coachmen when driving the
usual char-a-banc or wagonette performed this office while their
mistresses steered the horses through the gates. No one ever thought of
wearing a jewel or a decollete gown to a dinner or a dance. Mrs. Dillon,
the Bonanza queen, having heard much of the simplicity of the worshipful
Menlo Park folk, had paid her first calls in a blue silk wrapper, but,
conceiving that she had done the wrong thing, sheltered her perplexities
in black silk thereafter. Her daughter upon the same occasion had worn a
voluminous frock of pale blue camel's hair trimmed with flounces of
Valenciennes lace, that being the simplest frock in her wardrobe; but
she privately thought even Mrs. Washington's apotheosised lawns and
organdies very "scrubby," and could never bring herself to anything less
expensive than summer silks, made at the greatest house in Paris.

"I am going to see the Mark Smith place this afternoon," said Trennahan.
"Your mother has very kindly offered to drive me over. I suppose it has
no woods on it. These are beautiful."

"They are the only ones in the San Mateo Valley," replied Magdalena,
experiencing the full pride of possession. "Are there such beautiful
ones in Europe?"

"Those at Fontainbleau are not unlike. But in England you stand in