; that's not the Jones at all," said Uncle John, disappointed.

"It's the Jones who is our guest," replied the landlord, smiling.

Meantime the three girls had gone for a walk along the coast. The
beach is beautiful at Coronado. There is a high sea wall of rock, and
the path runs along its edge almost the length of the promontory. The
rocks are sloping, however, and it is not very difficult to climb down
them to where the waves break against the wall.

Near the hotel they met straggling groups, strolling in either
direction, but half a mile away the promenade was practically
deserted. It was beginning to grow dark, and Beth said, regretfully:

"We must get back, girls, and dress for dinner--an unusual luxury,
isn't it? Our trunks arrived at the hotel two weeks ago, and are now
in our rooms, doubtless, awaiting us to unpack them."

"Don't let's return just yet," begged Myrtle. "I want to see the sun
set."

"It will be gorgeous," said Patsy, glancing at the sky; "but we can
see it from our windows, and as we're a long way from the hotel now I
believe Beth's suggestion is wise."

So they began to retrace their steps. Myrtle still walked with some
difficulty, and they had not proceeded far when Beth exclaimed:

"Look at that man down there!"

Her companions followed her direction and saw standing upon a huge
pile of rocks at the water's edge a slight, solitary figure. Something
in the poise, as he leaned forward staring at the darkened waves--for
the sun was low and cast shadows aslant the water--struck Myrtle as
familiar.

"Oh, girls!" she exclaimed; "it's the Grand Canyon man."

"Why, I believe it is," agreed Patsy. "What is he doing?"

"Nothing," said Beth, briefly. "But he is going to do something, I
think."

While they stared at him from their elevation the man straightened an
instant and cast a hasty glance to either side. The place seemed to
him deserted, for he failed to observe the group of three intently
watching his motions from the high bank overhead. Next moment he
turned back to the water and leaned over the edge of rock again.

"Don't!" cried Myrtle, her clear voice ringing over the lap of the
waves; "please don't!"

He swung around and turned his gaunt features upward to where the
young girl leaned upon her crutches, with clasped hands and a look of
distress upon her sweet face.

"Don't!" she repeated, pleadingly.

He passed his hand over his eyes with a very weary gesture and looked
at