ourself on an island, or even under water."

"A moderate Mediterranean would satisfy me," the general said. "I
wouldn't exchange the certainty of it for the treasures of Montezuma."

"The thirst for gold and for water are synonymous in your case?"

"Give this section a moist climate, and I needn't tell you that the
Great American Desert would literally blossom as the rose. Even as
it is, I expect a great deal of it will be redeemed by scientific
irrigation. The soil only needs water to become inexhaustibly
productive. Our desert, as you know, is not sand, like parts of the
Sahara; it has all the ingredients that go to nourish plants, only their
present powdery condition makes them unavailable. Now, I can, to-day,
buy a hundred square miles of desert for a few dollars. You see the
point, don't you?"

"And all you want is expert opinion as to the likelihood of finding
water?"

"The man who solves that question for me in the affirmative is welcome
to half my share of the results that would ensue from it."

"Why don't you engage some expert to investigate?"

"One can't always trust an expert. I don't mean as to his expertness
only, but as to his good faith. He might prefer to sell the idea to
somebody who could pay cash,--which I cannot."

"Why, you seem to have given this thing a good deal of thought,
Trednoke."

"Well, yes: it has been my hobby for a year past; and I have made some
investigations myself. But this is the first time I have spoken of it to
any one."

"I understand. And what of the investigations?"

"I can say that I found enough to interest me. I'll tell you about
it some time. I should be glad to leave Miriam something to make her
independent."

"I should say that her Creator had already done that!" said Meschines.
"By the way, I know a young fellow--if he were only here--who is just
the man you want, and can be trusted. He's a civil engineer,--Harvey
Freeman: the Lord only knows in what part of the world he is at this
speaking. He has made a special study of these subterranean matters."

"Don't you remember, papa, Coleridge's poem of Kubla Khan?--

"Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea!"

"Our sacred river, when we find it, shall be named Miriam."

"It ought to be Kamaiakan," she rejoined; "for, if anybody finds it, it
will be he."

"I think I hear the wings of the angel of whom we have been speaking,"
said t