g bungalow you have here! Did
you gather those wild flowers?"

Viola answered in the tone of a pupil to her master, "Yes, sir."

"But some of them grow high. You must be a mountaineer. Pardon my
curiosity--it is inexcusable--but how long have you lived here?"

The mother looked at her daughter for confirmation. "Eight years."

"Of course you are from the East?"

"Yes, from Wisconsin."

He laughed. "_We_ call Wisconsin a Western State. Of course, it's the
ignorant prejudice of the New-Yorker, but I find it hard to think of
you as actual residents of this far-away little town. I thought only
miners lived here?"

"We are miners. My husband has a mine up in the Basin, but he's
putting in some new machinery just now and is unable to come down but
once a week." Then mildly resenting his implied criticism of the town,
she added: "We have just as nice people here as you'll find anywhere."

He responded gallantly, "I am quite prepared to believe that, Mrs.
Lambert. But do many nice people like you live here all the year
round?" He was bent on drawing the girl out, but she did not respond.

The mother answered: "I haven't been away except to take my daughter
East to school."

He was cautious. "By East you mean Milwaukee?"

"Diamond Lake, Wisconsin."

He turned to the girl. "How long were you away?"

"Four years."

"Did you like it?"

"Very much."

"That is the reason you find it lonesome here." Up to this moment his
attitude was that of a teacher towards a pretty pupil. "You miss your
classmates, I suppose? Still there must be diversions here, even for a
young girl."

The mother sighed. "It really is very lonesome here for Viola--if it
weren't for her church work and her music I don't know what she'd do.
There are so few young people, and then her years at the seminary
spoiled her for the society out here, anyway."

"So much the worse for Colorow society," laughed Serviss. Then, to
clear the shadow which had gathered on the girl's face, he said: "I
see a fine piano, and shelves of music books. This argues that you
love music. Won't you sing for me? I am hungry for a song."

"I do not sing," she replied, coldly, "I have no voice."

"Then play for me. I have been for eight weeks on the desert and I am
famishing for music."

"Are you a musician?" asked Mrs. Lambert.

"Oh no, only a music-lover."

"My daughter is passionately fond of the piano," the mother explained,
"and her teachers advised her to go