or horse, who
has caught that smell, ever forgets the valley of the Saint. Bonita was
looking across the green to the mushroom gatherers.

Craig spoke, a little petulantly.

"You never agree with me about my going, anyway. You seem to think that
the beauty of this campus and the freedom of everything here is argument
enough. But it's all too uncertain. I've told you that my salary is cut
away down and I'm not any too sure of ever having it made up to me; as
it is, we assistants are here only because the heads decided to cut
their own pay and keep us for the sake of the departments. If the suit
is lost, it's good-bye, anyway. I can't believe you have much idea that
we're going to win it to-morrow. It went for us in the lower courts,
here in California, but do you think that the Supreme Court of these
selfish and United States is going to decide for us just because they
were gallant enough to Mrs. Stanford to hurry the case up in the
calendar and cut short her suspense? You don't understand things, if you
think so. Out here where you live, the rains may be late and the grass
seem never coming, but you know it'll rain sooner or later, and you're
getting hay right along and it doesn't take much water to bring up what
you want. But with me it's different. We're going to get a weather
prediction from Washington to-morrow that'll tell us definitely whether
it's to be winter for keeps around here or summer and a good crop."

The instructor leaned on the fence and puffed on at his pipe. Bonita
endured the smoke that clung around them in the still air, for she felt
that they were at a crisis. She drew up closer to the rails and put her
head against the instructor's shoulder. Suddenly, the man let his pipe
fall into the grass and he laid his face against her soft, gray nose.

"You're a good old girl," he said, "and you know more about it than
anyone. But you haven't any money question to worry you. You don't love
the place a bit more than I do; you don't love it as much, because you
only know the nature side of it, and I know the bigness of the rest of
it, too. But the hope's almost dead, old lady; I can't tie my ambitions
to a corpse, you wouldn't ask me to, and you know I'm not the only one
to be looked after. But, oh, it'll be hard to go, won't it! There's
something that grips you where you live--you understand it."

The brood-mare did not pull away, although he was holding her head
tightly in his hot hands.

"If it all g