Softly tilting back this box, in the glad expectation of finding a defunct wood rat, I was startled to see instead a live kitten resting peacefully beside the deadly instrument. Careful as I was, the cat felt the box move, and sprang up in affright, jumped right across the trap and made tracks for the open, with that dreadful trap clamped fast to the extreme tip of her tail. I stood petrified for a moment, but was recalled to my senses by one wild yell and the clatter of the rat trap, which had caught against the shoescraper on the edge of the porch, detached itself from the pussey's tail and landed close beside me, after a hilarious spin in the air. Of course, there was no use calling "Kitty, Kitty" in my most persuasive tones. Kitty was out of reach in a very few seconds, and I went about mourning for the cat that might have become a pet,

So there was neither dog nor cat on the ranch; but after a day or two I thought I heard a faint "mee-ow" under the house, and I instantly went to the west side of the building, where three steps lead from my room on to the terrace. The steps lie along the side of the house, and just at the foot there was left an opening in the wall, low down on the ground, which opening is closed only by some short, loose boards. Crouching down on the terrace and removing these, I began to call and coax, eliciting at last another faint cat call, though never seeing a cat. But I carried milk to this opening, moved it inside and closed up the space again. After a little while the milk had vanished, and I put meat in the same place with the same result, and kept this up for days, rewarded sometimes by a "mew," but never a sight of the cat. At last, one day, toward evening, after I had heard repeated "mee-ows," I stepped, or rather rushed, as I always do, out on the back porch, coffee-pot in hand, full of cold water, luckily, which I was shaking vigorously prior to dashing it on the clump of guelder roses that stood against the north wall of the house. At that moment I noticed a white spot

among the bushes, heading my way, and just as it flashed through my brain "The cat is coming to make friends," a gallon or two of cold water was flying through the air, and the next instant a soaked cat was hurling itself around the corner of the house and disappearing under the west side of it, anxious, evidently, to draw the sheltering boards in after it; at least they lay in a heap on the outside of the

open space.

Again the cat became invisible, this time for weeks, while it silently absorbed milk and meat as much as I could put under the house for it. Then came a lady to visit me, from San Jose, and as by this time the cat had learned to followed me from room to room, under the house, I startled this lady one day by holding conversation with an invisible cat.

"Oh, Kitty," I said, "why don't you come up and lie by the kitchen fire; it's so rainy and cold." Asked the lady in alarm: "Whom are you talking to?"

And I said: "To my cat, to be sure." "But you've got no cat," she said, positively. "Oh, yes, I have; only it's invisible." When I had related the details of the rat-trap incident, and the cold water accident, she said, "I know how to bring out that cat and gentle it for all time to come."

So we waited till one day the "meeows" were loud and numerous, and we both kneeled down on the terrace by the steps, and she held a long, slender switch, with which she was to tickle pussy's nose, and get it to play. Just as I was growing too hoarse to call any more, a white paw was thrust out from the gloom, and a white nose with a black smut across it, was stuck curiously forward. This was the moment for which my friend had waited. But alas! the end of the switch had gotten tangled up in some loose rose clippings, with the thorny side out, and gaining impetus from the weight, it came in sudden contact with the cat's head in so unexpected and overwhelming a manner that the cat-to-be-gentled fled in wildest dismay, and became inaudible as well as invisible

after the third attempt at civilization. Then I was called to Santa Cruz on business, and my young friend said: "Well, I'd get either a dog or a cat and bring it home!" So I tried to get a dog.

The first try I made was up on High street. A certain young lady there owned five dogs, and I said with the directness for which I am rather celebrated: "Dear young lady, please give me one of your dogs." I shall never forget the startled, grieved expression in the great, luminous eyes she raised to mine, for she was just presenting, in the most gracious manner, a plate of cake to me. "Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "oh, yes." But I knew she did not mean that kind of yes, and I did not blame her when later I saw a magnificent greyhound, a beautiful spaniel, another hound, a terrier, and some other dogs which I would not have parted with either, had they belonged to me. There was a possible Great Dane mentioned, and I said I'd take him, too, if I could get him.

Next day I was to go home; and walking up Pacific avenue, I saw a lovely spaniel lying on the sidewalk in front of a hardware store, just the kind of a dog I should have liked. I stood still awhile pretending to look at the pots and pans in the windows, but really looking at the dog. One of the number of gentlemen conversing in front of the store turned to go; but the dog did not follow him, nor did the other two pay any attention to the spaniel. "A stray dog," I said to myself, for I had read in the "Sentinel" that too many of them were running in the streets.

So I asked one of the gentlemen: "Is that your dog?" and he said "No." He did not know whose it was. "All right," I said, "I'll take him then," and I proceeded to gather up the little black creature at once. "Hold on," interposed the gentlemen; "some one in the store may own him," and sure enough, some one did own him, so this ' attempt at kidnapping was nipped in the bud.

It was getting on toward noon; my train would leave a little past one, and it was now a case of "get a dog; honestly, if may be, but get a dog." Calling on some friends-whose name perhaps I had better not mention-and making known my desire for the possession of a dog, I was told of one that could perhaps be-well, let us say -gotten. It was understood that he was to be brought to the train for me, and I trotted off quite happy.

Now, it so happened that to that train, that day, there came shining legal lights, weighty editors, editor's wives with keen perceptions of the ridiculous, and literary ladies as famed for sarcasm as for fine talents in satire. Finding myself amongst these people, I was naturally anxious to appear dignified and calm as a woman of my years ought to be. and I tried to talk rationally and look wise. I might have succeeded had I not suddenly discovered the approach of an unknown individual leading a diminutive dog by a line. "Oh, here's my dog!" I exclaimed, and I jumped up from my seat, ran through the crowded car, snatched up the dog and returned with the frantic animal struggling in my arms, just as the train started.

Such a shout of laughter went up to the roof of that car! Everybody wanted to see the dog; they all made fun of him, and me, too, I'm afraid; but they were all good-natured, and some one always telegraphed or telephoned to me every time the conductor hove in sight; and the dog regularly went into eclipse, at such time, under my big black coat. But Monkey, as everybody called the little brute on sight, after struggling desperately for a while, became perfectly tractable, and still as a mouse, when allowed to slip out of my lap to the floor of the car.

The crucial test of my courage came when we approached Wrights, and I knew I should have to carry the beast out in my arms or lose him. But I gathered up my courage and the "purp," struggled down the aisle toward the door, and making the best

T WAS to be their last day together. Merrel sat in the reception room of the Chester Apartments and waited for Miss Ainsley to appear. He had been tardy, delayed by the "covering" of an unexpected assignment, and he had arrived somewhat out of breath and a trifle anxious as to how he would be received. But his apprehension had been groundless, for she was not yet ready. He was glad he had brought the violets, howeverhe knew it was her favorite flower.

Merrel was a nice, clean looking boy. His work had not yet stolen the fresh pink from his skin or graved the lines of experience. He was straight limbed and lithe, and the close fitting tweed suit showed his build to advantage. His head was good, with a high forehead, and his mouth straight and firm, while his eyes, not to be disguised by the tortoise pince-nez, twinkled delightfully. He was a true Western type.

The boy glanced repeatedly at his watch, without realizing it had stopped an hour ago, and his heart palpitated a bit at each sound of approaching footsteps. The wait seemed interminable to him, though in reality it was but a few moments since he had sent up his card.

At last the door opened, and the fair haired lady stood before him. The sudden leap which his heart gave showed the reason for its previous palpitation. Moreover, a lump seemed to rise in his throat, and his eyes became misty at the vision of her. For a moment he could not speak, but rising slowly, he dropped the violets and advanced to her with out-stretched hand. She smiled at him.

voice was low and musical, and she had a little trick of smiling with parted lips.

"Why, I was late myself," he answered. "I was afraid I was very late." Then he recovered the forgotten flow

ers.

"Violets," she exclaimed. "Aren't they beauties." And to Merrel they were even more beautiful by her approval.

He watched her as she arranged the bouquet. She was dressed in golden brown broadcloth, trimmed with soft beaver, and her turban also bore a touch of fur. Her hair, framing her piquant face, was light brown and wavy, and Merrel longed to put forth his hand and smooth one erring curl back into place. She was slender and of just the stature that made that slenderness appealing, and as she raised herself on tip-toe to observe the flowers in the mirror one could see a trim ankle and well-shod foot. To Merrel she was the most desirable girl in the world.

She turned to him for approval, and his eyes gave it so heartily that she blushed, and her lashes drooped alluringly. When she raised them again Merrel stood quite close, and with one hand he gently tilted her face to look into his. His nervousness had quite gone, and there remained only a pleading little tremor in his voice.

"Look at me," he commanded, and she brought her wavering glance to his. "It's our last time together." He must have dreamed that a tear glistened for a moment in her eye.

"Yes," she said softly, "our last time." Then quite suddenly she melted into his arms and snuggled against

"Oh, Bob, I'm so unhappy. I don't want to go." Merrel, it was plain, did not want her to go either, for he held her very close to him for a long time. Indeed, we cannot doubt that, if it lay within his power, he would not have even permitted her to think of going.

Florence Ainsley and her mother were of that vast throng who had come to California in the Exposition year. The mother, ill in health, mourning her husband's death, had yielded to her daughter's urging and had crossed the continent. They had remained longer than they intended. One reason for this was the improvement in Mrs. Ainsley's health, and the other was Bob Merrel. He had met Miss Ainsley at the Massachusetts Building, where on some special day he had "covered" the story. She had served him with tea, they had chatted a while, and the casual acquaintance soon ripened into friendship and more. Too swiftly had the days passed, and they were at last brought to realize that their dream was almost at an end. The Ainsleys were forced through financial strictures to return to Boston, and Bob's slender salary forbade any attempt to hold the lady of his heart near him. Sometimes he built dreams of the future, but he knew they were only dreams after all. Their last day had arrived.

"Come," she said, "let's walk somewhere," and leaving the apartment, they turned into California street. A slight breeze blowing up from the bay fell lightly upon their faces, and unconsciously they breathed deeply, and then smiled at each other.

"It's like rare wine, this San Francisco air," she said. "It makes me quite giddy. I feel as if I could walk right over the roof tops and on across the water," and unwitting of passersby, she took his hand as if to lead him with her in her flight.

"Where shall be go?" he asked. "Chinatown-let's. Remember how

you took me there one evening and we went into all those weird little shops. and ate queer things?" and Merrel remembered how she looked that night,

and that was all.

How often they had descended Nob Hill before, bent on this or that excursion. The reporter knew his San Francisco well, and he had led her to the many romantic spots the city abounds in. Tales he told her of the old city before the fire-stories he had garnered in press room and street, the paean of long dead days. To the Eastern girl it was like the Arabian night's enchantment-a living romance-small wonder that Merrel won her heart.

With little exclamations of glee the girl turned from this display to that, fingering silken Oriental garments, or tracing the pattern of vase and ornament. Obliging clerks, a mixture of Orient and Occident, brought forth treasures for the eyes of the pretty American. Even in the Sing Set bazaar, where cool indifference usually awaits the tourist, the silent little yellow gentlemen served her smilingly.

The afternoon passed quickly. They turned at last back up Grant avenue, pausing now and then to admire some display. Suddenly the girl paused before an antique shop. Her sharp exclamation drew Merrel to her side. An amber necklace lay in the window, A single ray of the afternoon sun gleamed on it, bringing out all the liquid clearness of the flawless beads. The other articles in the case were dull and dusty-only the necklace seemed a living thing.

"Oh, how exquisite. See." She pressed her face close to the glass. "Let's go in and look at it."

They entered the shop and the necklace was brought forth for inspection. It was perfect in its fashion. The beads were finely cut, each like unto its fellow, graded expertly through the long strand. The facets still seemed still to hold the gleam caught from the sun a moment before. It was really beautiful.

Merrel watched the girl clasp it caressingly about her neck, and he motioned to the shop-keeper.

"How much ?"

"Twenty dolla"," the Chinese gave Merrel a shrewd, sidelong glance.