ach drove up.

"Driver!" began Mr. Mayfield.

There was no reply.

"Driver," said Mr. Mayfield, slightly weakening under Bill's eye, "I
shall want you no longer. I have"--

"Is he speaking to me?" said Bill audibly to Jeff, "'cause they call me
'Yuba Bill' yer abouts."

"He is," said Jeff hastily.

"Mebbee he's drunk," said Bill audibly; "a drop or two afore breakfast
sometimes upsets his kind."

"I was saying, Bill," said Mr. Mayfield, becoming utterly limp and weak
again under Bill's cold gray eyes, "that I've changed my mind, and shall
stop here awhile. My daughter seems already benefited by the change. You
can take my traps from the boot and leave them here."

Bill laid down his lines resignedly, coolly surveyed Mr. Mayfield, the
house, and the half-pleased, half-frightened Jeff, and then proceeded
to remove the luggage from the boot, all the while whistling loud and
offensive incredulity. Then he climbed back to his box. Mr. Mayfield,
completely demoralized under this treatment, as a last resort essayed
patronage.

"You can say to the Sacramento agents, Bill, that I am entirely
satisfied, and"--

"Ye needn't fear but I'll give ye a good character," interrupted Bill
coolly, gathering up his lines. The whip snapped, the six horses dashed
forward as one, the coach plunged down the road and was gone.

With its disappearance, Mr. Mayfield stiffened slightly again. "I have
just told your aunt, Mr. Briggs," he said, turning upon Jeff, "that my
daughter has expressed a desire to remain here a few days; she has slept
well, seems to be invigorated by the air, and although we expected to
go on to the 'Summit,' Mrs. Mayfield and myself are willing to accede
to her wishes. Your house seems to be new and clean. Your table--judging
from the breakfast this morning--is quite satisfactory."

Jeff, in the first flush of delight at this news, forgot what that
breakfast had cost him--forgot all his morning's experience, and, I
fear, when he did remember it, was too full of a vague, hopeful courage
to appreciate it. Conscious of showing too much pleasure, he affected
the necessity of an immediate interview with his aunt, in the kitchen.
But his short cut round the house was arrested by a voice and figure. It
was Miss Mayfield, wrapped in a shawl and seated in a chair, basking in
the sunlight at one of the bleakest and barest angles of the house. Jeff
stopped in a delicious tremor.

As we are dealing with facts, however,