own affairs, and the sun's great period as he ranged
westward through the heavens. The two birds cackled awhile in the early
morning; all day the water tinkled in the shaft, the bores ground
sawdust in the planking of our crazy palace--infinitesimal sounds; and
it was only with the return of night that any change would fall on our
surroundings, or the four crickets begin to flute together in the dark.

Indeed, it would be hard to exaggerate the pleasure that we took in the
approach of evening. Our day was not very long, but it was very tiring.
To trip along unsteady planks or wade among shifting stones, to go to
and fro for water, to clamber down the glen to the Toll House after meat
and letters, to cook, to make fires and beds, were all exhausting to the
body. Life out of doors, besides, under the fierce eye of day, draws
largely on the animal spirits. There are certain hours in the afternoon
when a man, unless he is in strong health or enjoys a vacant mind, would
rather creep into a cool corner of a house and sit upon the chairs of
civilisation. About that time, the sharp stones, the planks, the
upturned boxes of Silverado, began to grow irksome to my body; I set out
on that hopeless, never-ending quest for a more comfortable posture; I
would be fevered and weary of the staring sun; and just then he would
begin courteously to withdraw his countenance, the shadows lengthened,
the aromatic airs awoke, and an indescribable but happy change announced
the coming of the night.

The hours of evening when we were once curtained in the friendly dark,
sped lightly. Even as with the crickets, night brought to us a certain
spirit of rejoicing. It was good to taste the air; good to mark the
dawning of the stars, as they increased their glittering company; good,
too, to gather stones, and send them crashing down the chute, a wave of
light. It seemed, in some way, the reward and the fulfilment of the day.
So it is when men dwell in the open air; it is one of the simple
pleasures that we lose by living cribbed and covered in a house, that,
though the coming of the day is still the most inspiriting, yet day's
departure, also, and the return of night refresh, renew, and quiet us;
and in the pastures of the dusk we stand, like cattle, exulting in the
absence of the load.

Our nights were never cold, and they were always still, but for one
remarkable exception. Regularly, about nine o'clock, a warm wind sprang
up, and blew for ten min