mulate embroidery. The joy that suddenly filled
him at this proof of her remembrance showed him too plainly how hollow
had been his cynicism and how lasting his hope! Turning over the wrapper
eagerly, he discovered what he had at first thought was some business
card. It was, indeed, printed and not engraved, in some common newspaper
type, and bore the address, "Hiram Tarbox, Land and Timber Agent, 1101
California Street." He again examined the parcel; there was nothing
else,--not a line from HER! But it was a clue at last, and she had not
forgotten him! He seized his hat, and ten minutes later was breasting
the steep sand hill into which California Street in those days plunged,
and again emerged at its crest, with a few struggling houses.

But when he reached the summit he could see that the outline of the
street was still plainly marked along the distance by cottages and
new suburban villa-like blocks of houses. No. 1101 was in one of these
blocks, a small tenement enough, but a palace compared to Mr. Tarbox's
Sierran cabin. He impetuously rang the bell, and without waiting to be
announced dashed into the little drawing-room and Mr. Tarbox's presence.
That had changed too; Mr. Tarbox was arrayed in a suit of clothes as
new, as cheaply decorative, as fresh and, apparently, as damp as his own
drawing room.

"Did you get my letter? Did you give her the one I inclosed? Why didn't
you answer?" burst out Brice, after his first breathless greeting.

Mr. Tarbox's face here changed so suddenly into his old dejected
doggedness that Brice could have imagined himself back in the Sierran
cabin. The man straightened and bowed himself at Brice's questions, and
then replied with bold, deliberate emphasis:

"Yes, I DID get your letter. I DIDN'T give no letter o' yours to her.
And I didn't answer your letter BEFORE, for I didn't propose to answer
it AT ALL."

"Why?" demanded Brice indignantly.

"I didn't give her your letter because I didn't kalkilate to be any
go-between 'twixt you and Snapshot Harry's niece. Look yar, Mr. Brice.
Sense I read that 'ar paragraph in that paper you gave me, I allowed to
myself that it wasn't the square thing for me to have any more doin's
with him, and I quit it. I jest chucked your letter in the fire. I
didn't answer you because I reckoned I'd no call to correspond with ye,
and when I showed ye that trail over to Harry's camp, it was ended. I've
got a house and business to look arter, and it don't