ch is so satisfying to the mind, which the
few figures and broken lines intensified; and there was that witching
warmth and mellowness of coloring which does not belong to landscapes
where green and gray hues predominate.

Having said thus much about a picture, we have explained why Californian
views, even in our great, almost treeless valleys, grow so into our
hearts and imaginations, after the first dash of disappointment at not
finding them like the vernal vales of New England or central New York.
But Tesoro Rancho was not treeless. Great spreading oaks furnished just
the necessary dark-green tones in the valley landscape; and the
mountain-sides had multifarious shades of color, furnished by rocks and
trees, by shadows, and by the atmosphere itself.

It was no wonder, then, that sandy-haired Jim, sitting on a rail-fence,
in an attitude more curious than graceful, cast his glance often
unconsciously over the far valley-reaches, and up the mountain-sides,
with a dim perception of something pleasant in the view which his
thought took no cognizance of. In fact, for the last minute or two, his
gaze had been a silent one; and any observer might have pondered,
considering the sharpness of the perch beneath him, whether he might not
be making up his mind to descend from it as soon as his slow-working
mentality had had time to convey the decision of his brain to his
muscles.

At all events, that was what he did in answer to our mental query,
taking up the thread of his discourse where it was broken off, as
follows:

"Miss Edwards, neow (thar she is, a-comin down from the mount'in, with
her arms full of them 'zalias she's so fond of), she's a mighty peart
kind of a gal, and wuth a heap more to keep a man's house in good shape
than one o' them soft-lookin' Chinee. Them's my sentiments."

"That's _so_," responded his chum, seeming constitutionally disinclined
to a longer sentence.

"John Edwards has tuk to dressin' hisself nicer, and fixin' up the place
as he didn't used to when he bach'd it, I can tell ye! When I see her
bringin' her pianny, and her picturs, and books, and sich like traps, I
just told myself, 'Neow, John Edwards has got a pretty passel of trash
on his hands, I veow.' And I ment _her_ as well as the other
fol-de-rols. But, you bet your life, she's got more sense, two to one,
than ary one of us! It was a lucky day for Edwards when she came onto
this ranch, sure's you're born."

What further this equally