visit her;
and her husband could not be spared from his duties as chamberlain to
the King, to come with her to America, and she would not leave him and
come alone. So at the time my story begins, it had been many years since
the brother and sister had met, and Mr. Connor had quite made up his
mind that he should never see her again in this world. He had had a
sorry time of it for a good many years. He had wandered all over the
world, trying to find a climate which would make him well. He had lived
in Egypt, in Ceylon, in Italy, in Japan, in the Sandwich Islands, in the
West India Islands. Every place that had ever been heard of as being
good for sick people, he had tried; for he had plenty of money, and
there was nothing to prevent his journeying wherever he liked. He had a
faithful black servant Jim, who went with him everywhere, and took the
best of care of him; but neither the money, nor the good nursing, nor
the sea air, nor the mountain air, nor the north, south, east or west
air, did him any good. He only tired himself out for nothing, roaming
from place to place; and was all the time lonely, and sad too, not
having any home. So at last he made up his mind that he would roam no
longer; that he would settle down, build himself a house, and if he
could not be well and strong and do all the things he liked to, he
would at least have a home, and have his books about him, and have a
good bed to sleep in, and good food to eat, and be comfortable in all
those ways in which no human being ever can be comfortable outside of
his own house.

He happened to be in California when he took this resolution. He had
been there for a winter; and on the whole had felt better there than he
had felt anywhere else. The California sunshine did him more good than
medicine: it is wonderful how the sun shines there! Then it was never
either very hot or very cold in the part of California where he was; and
that was a great advantage. He was in the southern part of the State,
only thirty miles from the sea-shore, in San Gabriel. You can find this
name "San Gabriel" on your atlas, if you look very carefully. It is in
small print, and on the Atlas it is not more than the width of a pin
from the water's edge; but it really is thirty miles,--a good day's
ride, and a beautiful day's ride too, from the sea. San Gabriel is a
little village, only a dozen or two houses in it, and an old,
half-ruined church,--a Catholic church, that was built there a