to be so late, my friends; I was detained: but mother knows better how to make it pleasant than I do.”

Mrs. Meserve was speechless. Was that her despised husband sitting there and talking so easily?-establishing his identity, when she had kept it hidden all these years; tricked out in a swallow-tailed coat and white necktie at his age; and George Wright was in the conspiracy, too. How she lived through that dessert she never knew, for the tempest that was brewing within her choked every word that she tried to utter. Her dinner over, she and Hannah excused themselves for a few moments, and Mr. Wright, seeing them leave the room, followed after.

"Were you surprised ?" he asked, when he was alone with them in the library. "Did you bring him?" demanded Meserve, viciously.

Mrs.

"He was my guest," returned Mr. Wright, with his aggravatingly amiable drawl.

"You dared to shame me before those people?”—this, still more ominously. "Shame? you need not think that he is ashamed of you."

"That man-who has refused to leave his little dirt cart for us-that man, with his low inclinations and illiteracy-do you dare to blame me ?—me, a mother who has lived for her children's good, and who has tried to make the most of life for their sake. If I were a man, I should knock you down for this insult-you, who have dared to ask the hand of my daughter."

"Madam, I withdraw that petition at once. Do you think that I would choose a woman to be my wife who would treat her father as Hannah has treated hers-who would deny him as Peter denied his Christ? Do you think that I would marry a hypocrite, a Pharisee, or even the child of such blood? I love old Mr. Meserve, and I intend to stand by him."

daughter if I would I have other ties, you know"-this accompanied by a significant nod.

"Sir! what do you mean? not that you have one wife already,” exclaimed Mrs. Meserve, seating herself by a table, and leaning her head nervelessly in the palm of her hand, while she stared in amazement at the nonchalant cavalier before her. Hannah had made a move forward, as if she would plead her own cause, but Mrs. Meserve thrust her back with her free hand, and ordered her to be silent.

"Now, sir," she continued severely, “will you be kind enough to give me an explanation ?"

"Certainly, madam. To tell you the truth, I expect my wife and mother up on the coming steamer. I have been waiting to provide a comfortable home for them before I sent for them."

"How do you account for this scandalous behavior, sir? I demand an explanation, you villain; to crush my poor lamb's life.”

"Perhaps your daughter will remember the first conversation that she and I had about Uncle Hiram. I told her at the time, that if I ever found out who his family were, I would give them a lesson that they would remember. There is no punishment too great for the Peters of this world--no hell too hot for the hypocrite."

"What would Miss Sherwood think of you now?" sneered Miss Hannah.

"They have known for some time. They too, love Uncle Hiram, and despise the hypocrite."

Mrs. Meserve was not the woman to yield easily. She gathered herself together, swept by the young man, and went back to her guests. The evening seemed endless, and the visitors depressed. The last guest finally departed. Mrs. Meserve and Hannah then held a council with closed doors. All that night

The following day a steamer sailed for San Francisco, bearing Mrs. Meserve and Hannah with it, and carrying in the hold numerous trunks and boxes, containing every movable treasure that they had been able to remove

from the house. Juanita alone was left behind, saddened and cured by the lesson she had had. Then when Mr. Wright's mother and wife came, Uncle Hiram gave them a home with him, thus leaving Sequoia Hollow to the Sherwoods.

Did the town talk about that dinner party and its result-the identification of their old favorite, Uncle Hiram? Ah! my friend, such choice acts so seldom agitate the community, that when they do come the topic of the weather rusts from disuse. Emilie Tracy Y. Swett.

ISAAC and I were sitting at the door of our castle, looking out over the sea. The sun was sinking into the ocean, and a gentle breeze began to creep inland, dissipating the heat of a sultry afternoon. As the twilight deepened, and the calmness of approaching night settled down on the world, I could see that Isaac was growing sentimental. It was easy to detect these moods, for they invariably found expression in one way. Rising from the cracker box upon which he had been seated, he went inside, and returned, presently, with a French accordion. Tilting the box back against the adobe wall, he sat down' shut his eyes, and began to play.

but I had long since discovered his secret. Six months before, he had said farewell to a little black-eyed girl on one of the bridges of Nashville, and now, as he sat on the far rim of the Pacific, and watched the sun sink into China, the memory of her face came back with the twilight and the song.

"I know all about it," I said, "and now I am going to give you some poetry to offset the song."

Isaac hated poetry. Its witchery made no appeal to him. I, on the other hand, had to do something to neutralize the effects of the accordion; so I commenced on Miles O'Reilly's Bohemian ode:

"My friend, my chum, my trusty crony,
We were designed, it seems to me,
To be two lazy lazaroni,

On sunshine fed and inaccaroni,
Beside some far Sicilian sea."

Ike yawned.

"That allusion to maccaroni," he said, "reminds me that you have not got supper yet."

Here was a return to the practical—a stern reminder of common-place duty unperformed. In an evil hour I had made a contract with this poet-hater to do the cooking for our household. Isaac was to furnish the material and I was to cook it: that was the contract. A species of protocol to the agreement provided that both of us should wash dishes. Isaac had a way, however, of shirking his share of this latter duty. He was always in favor of turning the plates over

The boy did not know that I could see right through him. He thought he was deep;

day.

Furthermore, he would never wash pots and frying pans, but invariably left them for me to clean. This was a standing griev

ance, which I tried to bear as meekly as possible. By way of retaliation, I contrived, it is true, to make him eat a great deal of salt pork in the course of a week, but I do not think he suspects me to this day of any malice in the matter. Isaac was a Hebrew of a very pronounced type, but when it came to questions of diet, I always found him liberal and ready to adapt himself to the larder.

It would, perhaps, be well to say here, that the castle to which allusion has been made was an old adobe house, situated upon the shores of San Luis Obispo. It stood back a little from the beach and the county road, and was known in those days as a half-way station between the towns of Cambria and San Luis Obispo. Isaac had seized upon the location as a favorable one for trade, and had converted the old Spanish mansion into 1 wayside country-store. The place was lonesome enough most of the time, for the nearest ranch-house was a mile away; and so it happened when I came straggling through he country in quest of the indefinite, he took ne in as companion and cook. For three ong summer months our relations had been nost happy. We slept in the same bed, unted clams along the beach, and skyarked with the señoritas at the ranch house urther down the shore. Isaac complained ometimes that I neglected my culinary dues to go fishing or shell hunting, but when intimated that my resignation was at his isposal, he invariably relented. He could ot stay mad long, and then his conscience witched him a little about the neglected fry ■g pans.

Isaac came forth, but it was some time before he was fully reassured, for Brindle was, indeed, a hard-looking citizen. He had tramped all the way down from San José, sleeping in haystacks, and subsisting as best he could on the country through which he traveled. A three-weeks' beard covered his face, his nose was sun-blistered, and his eyes were blood-shot. and red, hung far down on his coat collar, and his general appearance was dusty and bedeviled. But, however unprepossessing in external signs, no man knew the gentle nature of this youth as I did. Self with him was always neglected, because he never thought of self. Simple and honest as the sun, he believed all other men to be honest, and walked through the world with his heart on his sleeve, confiding in every one and giving to every one from his exhaustless store of charity and human sympathy. The humbler creatures, too, had share in his solicitude. A hundred times I had seen him step high to avoid crushing bugs in the road

His hair, which was long

Hastening to the front door, I glanced in e direction indicated. A tall figure was vancing through the dusk towards the cas. It carried a stick upon one shoulder, =m which depended a bundle, and a wide ined straw hat was pulled far down over eyes.

on one end, and pointed at him as he went by. Once I caught him crying in the woods over the death of a mother quail, which his dog had killed.

"The brave little mother!" he said; "she flew right to my feet in the defense of her chicks, and Snap struck her before I could stop him."

Many were the tramps and rambles which we had had together along tangled river banks and up wild Sierra cañons. Brindle loved the woods. The city stifled an

him. He was a shy, lost spirit in a crowd; but unfettered on the grassy plains, or buried deep in the shadows of the forest, he bubbled and gurgled and ran over with joy like the crystal springs into which he was always diving. To me his knowledge of wood-craft was a constant marvel. He knew and had a name for every little plant and blade of grass in the woods, and he could weave more poetry about a leaf and see more pretty things in a bit of colored stone, than any man I ever knew.

For some reason or other he had pinned his faith to me. Why, I never knew. I was always poking fun at him and contriving to get him into scrapes, just to see him squirm out again; but nothing shook his affection. He was never content when he went on his summer rambles unless I was along, and this was not the first occasion on which he had followed me to distant retreats, when circumstances made it impossible for us to leave the city together. I was not particularly surprised, therefore, at his sudden appearance at the castle, and for a week we held high carnival. It was undoubtedly a very interesting week for Isaac, also, as he lived most of the time on sardines. He did not know that I overheard him, but when he remarked one day to a rancher, who was buying groceries, that he had not eaten much lately, because his cook was off beach-hunting with a lunatic, I repeated the ungracious remark to Brindle, and that forgiving youth nearly died of laughter. However, we prepared an elaborate supper that night, consisting of pork in many styles, and Isaac took down his frown and smiled.

The discovery of a sulphur spring about this time, in the mountains twenty miles to the south of us, was attracting considerable attention, and many people were going to the place for the benefit of the waters. As yet no roads had been built to the retreat, and it lay hidden and mysterious far up the dark cañons, accessible only by mule trail or on foot. Brindle conceived the idea of visiting this spring, and prevailed upon me to go with him.

Provided with such an outfit as Ike's store

could furnish, we started off late one afternoon, proposing to make six or seven miles that night, and finish the journey on the fol lowing day. Sunset found us in the neighborhood of a rude cabin in the mountains, the owner of which sat at his front door smoking. He was a piratical-looking customer, with a shaggy beard and a voice like a cracked trombone; but to our request of hospitality, he graciously placed the whole plantation, “sech as it was," at our disposal. An old woman inside was cooking supper. and she seemed much pleased at the arrival of strangers. Brindle, in particular, took her fancy. He reminded her of a man she had seen hanged once on a picnic occasion in old Missouri, and the thought of those other days caused her old mahogany face to beam with peculiar satisfaction. When the meal was ended, we all sat on the little platform in front of the house, and listened while the old pirate talked. He was a hard case. if his own story might be believed. He had killed more men, niggers, and Indians that fall to the lot of most men. During the war he had been a member of Quantrells band of guerrillas, and Yankee blood was as incense to his nostrils.

While he talked-and he gave no one else a chance to say much-he punctuated his remarks in a manner peculiarly and origin ally his own. In order to destroy the squir rels about the place, as he explained, he had procured a "school" of cats, and these had increased and multiplied, until fifty or sixty semi-savage felines now roamed about bs cabin. The multiplicity of these animals ha struck both Brindle and me, as we neared the place. There was a cat behind every shru -cats everywhere. They were a mean and hungry-looking set, slipping noiselessly about. and watching for every crumb and scra which the old woman tossed to them from the remains of our supper. As we sat on the porch in the dusk of the evening, thes creatures closed in on us in a semi-circe and patiently watched and waited on ther haunches. Little of their bodies could x seen, but a row of green eyes, stretching from left to right, looked up to us from th