was grateful at heart. Anything was better than harping over and
over again on the same string the story of my wrongs. Walking
interrupted this in a measure, though during the long tramps which I had
with my father we rarely talked, and I usually in monosyllables. In this
manner we explored the outlying country within a radius of twenty miles,
and when night came I was so fatigued that I was apt to sleep, and
consequently was spared the pale cheeks and dull eyes that for the most
part afflict those who have undergone an experience similar to mine.

One of the reasons why I did not run away from home was my lack of
funds. I was penniless, for all my money was with the securities I threw
into the sea. I was inclined, however, to congratulate myself upon this
extravagant proceeding, for the reason that had I acted less impulsively
I might not have detected Roger's selfishness until it was too late. But
when just before my father went away he handed me a roll of bank-bills,
the color rose to my cheeks, and I began to reflect upon the enormity of
my offence. He told me that he had ordered a saddle-horse to be sent to
me from town, which he hoped I would use regularly, and that in the
autumn he proposed to take me with him on a journey to California.

I listened in silence; but I rode the horse, and found him just the
companion I required. He could not talk, and yet was sufficiently
spirited to prevent me from self-absorption. My father also sent me a
box of books, which embraced a variety of literature. Although there
were some light and amusing sketches among them, novels of sentiment and
poetry had been excluded. On the other hand he had picked out the latest
and most authoritative publications relating to history, science,
biography, and travel, by which I soon found myself engrossed and
diverted. I read voluminously, and when this supply was exhausted I
wrote home for more.

This was my interest during the remainder of the summer, and when autumn
came I was conscious of having undergone a mental change. Whereas I was
formerly trusting, credulous, and optimistic, at least toward all except
myself, I was become suspicious even of the seal of sincerity, weighed
words, and applied the scalpel of analysis to others' motives as well as
to my own.

But this cynical phase did not last long, and gave way in turn to a much
more serious view of life than I had hitherto taken. The trip which I
made to California with my father di