with you bad
friends. So I came to shake hands and say good-bye. But I don't forgive
you for going away, and I never want to see you or hear from you
again!"

She did not ask to see what we were taking away, nor did her good-bye
seem like parting.

The fear that something might yet arise to prevent our reaching brother
and sister impelled us to run the greater part of the distance to the
hotel, and in less than an hour thereafter, we were in the carriage
with them on the way to Mrs. Bergwald's, prior to taking the road to
Sacramento.

Off at last, without a soul in the town knowing it!

Georgia, who had neither said nor done anything to anger grandma, was
easier in mind and more comfortable in body, than I, who, fasting, had
borne the trials of the morning. I could conceal the cause, but not the
faint and ill feeling which oppressed me during the morning drive and
continued until I had had something to eat at the wayside inn, and a
rest, while the horses were enjoying their nooning.

I had also been too miserable to feel any interest in what occurred at
Mrs. Bergwald's after we stopped to let Georgia get her keepsakes. But
when the day's travel was over, and we were comfortably housed for the
night, Georgia and I left our brother and sister to their happy hour
with their child, and sat close together on the outer doorsteps to
review the events of the day. Our world during that solemn hour was
circumscribed, reaching back only to the busy scenes of the morning,
and forward to the little home that should open to us on the morrow.

When we resumed travel, we did not follow the pioneers' trail, once
marked by hoof of deer, elk, and antelope, nor the winding way of the
Spanish _cabellero,_ but took the short route which the eager tradesman
and miner had hewn and tramped into shape.

On reaching the ferry across the Sacramento River, I gazed at the
surrounding country in silent amazement. Seven and a half years with
their marvellous influx of brawn and brain, and their output of gold,
had indeed changed every familiar scene, except the snow-capped
Sierras, wrapped in their misty cloak of autumnal blue. The broad, deep
river had given up both its crystal floods and the wild, free song
which had accompanied it to the sea, and become a turbid waterway,
encumbered with busy craft bringing daily supplies to countless homes,
and carrying afar the long hidden wealth of ages.

The tule flat between the water front and Sutte