arently lived, was
a mile from a mining settlement on a beautiful ridge of pine woods
sloping gently towards a valley on the one side, and on the other
falling abruptly into a dark deep olive gulf of pine trees, rocks,
and patches of red soil. Beautiful as the slope was, looking over to
the distant snow peaks which seemed to be in another world than
theirs, the children found a greater attraction in the fascinating
depths of a mysterious gulf, or "canon," as it was called, whose
very name filled their ears with a weird music. To creep to the edge
of the cliff, to sit upon the brown branches of some fallen pine,
and putting aside the dried tassels to look down upon the backs of
wheeling hawks that seemed to hang in mid-air was a never failing
delight. Here Polly would try to trace the winding red ribbon of
road that was continually losing itself among the dense pines of the
opposite mountains; here she would listen to the far off strokes of
a woodman's axe, or the rattle of some heavy waggon, miles away,
crossing the pebbles of a dried up water course. Here, too, the
prevailing colours of the mountains, red and white and green, most
showed themselves. There were no frowning rocks to depress the
children's fancy, but everywhere along the ridge pure white quartz
bared itself through the red earth like smiling teeth, the very
pebbles they played with were streaked with shining mica like bits
of looking-glass. The distance was always green and summer-like, but
the colour they most loved, and which was most familiar to them, was
the dark red of the ground beneath their feet everywhere. It showed
itself in the roadside bushes; its red dust pervaded the leaves of
the overhanging laurel, it coloured their shoes and pinafores; I am
afraid it was often seen in Indian like patches on their faces and
hands. That it may have often given a sanguinary tone to their
fancies, I have every reason to believe.

[Illustration]

It was on this ridge that the three children gathered at ten o'clock
that morning. An earlier flight had been impossible on account of
Wan Lee being obliged to perform his regular duty of blacking the
shoes of Polly and Hickory before breakfast,--a menial act which in
the pure Republic of childhood was never thought inconsistent with
the loftiest piratical ambition. On the ridge they met one "Patsey,"
the son of a neighbour, sun burned, broad-brimmed hatted, red
handed, like themselves. As there were afterwards som