ia Kaye. He
had had little time for introspection, for intimate knowledge of
himself, in those days.

The spring was invented to remind men what mere mortals they are. Gwynne
would have felt restless and disinclined for law and politics this
morning had he never seen Isabel Otis. Every lark in the great valley
was singing madly. Blue birds, yellow birds, sat on the fences and
carolled at each other as if the world were always May. The very earth
seemed to have sprouted into color. He had never imagined wild flowers
by the billion, nor such a harmonious variety of color. The fields were
green, the cherries, black and red and white, glistening and luscious,
were ready for picking in his orchards. As he approached his house, he
saw that all the white oaks, bare in winter, were in leaf; large soft
young green leaves, that almost hid the pendent sad green moss. The air
was warm and light, the sky so blue it seemed to laugh with a promise of
eternal good things. The whole land breathed hope, and youth, and
allurement to every delight, of which she alone possessed the store. He
was soon to learn what a liar she was, but although it was many a long
day before he took note of any phase of nature again, save her weather,
he had an elusive presentiment that he should never cease to be grateful
for that moment of quick unreasoning exultation in his youth and
manhood, and in the mere joy of life.

He was not surprised, as he turned the corner of the veranda, to find
Imura Kisaburo Hinamoto sitting with his feet on the railing, a
cigarette in his mouth, and a volume, issued by the United States Coast
and Geodetic Survey, on his knee. But as the servant saw the master he
rose promptly to his feet, extinguished the cigarette with his fingers,
and stood in an attitude of extreme respect. He even smiled, but not
propitiatingly; it was almost patent that the return of his chance
superior was welcome.

Gwynne nodded. "Glad to see that you still improve your mind," he
observed. "Tell Carlos to hitch up and go for my luggage: I left it at
the station." He looked at his watch. It was half-past eleven. He
hesitated a moment, then decided to postpone his visit to Isabel again.
He did not feel in the mood to sit down and eat with her. "My horse at
two o'clock," he added. And the Jap disappeared.

Gwynne went into the kitchen, and Mariana, who was peeling onions for an
_olla podrida_, screamed and embraced him.

"No could help," she said, p