Why,you remember that curve on Break Neck hill,where the leaders allus look as if they was alongside o'the coach and faced the other way?Well,that woman sticks her skull outer the window,and sez she,confidential-like to old yaller-belly,sez she,'William Henry,'sez she,'tell that man his horses are running away!'""You didn't get to see the--the--daughter,Bill,did you?"asked Jeff,whose laugh had become quite uneasy.

"No,I didn't,"said Bill,with sudden and inexplicable vehemence,"and the less you see of her,Jefferson Briggs,the better for you."Too confounded and confused by Bill's manner to question further,Jeff remained silent until they drew up at the door of the "Half-way House."But here another surprise awaited him.Mr.Mayfield,erect and dignified,stood upon the front porch as the coach drove up.

"Driver!"began Mr.Mayfield.

There was no reply.

"Driver,"said Mr.Mayfield,slightly weakening under Bill's eye,"Ishall want you no longer.I have"--

"Is he speaking to me?"said Bill audibly to Jeff,"'cause they call me 'Yuba Bill'yer abouts.""He is,"said Jeff hastily.

"Mebbee he's drunk,"said Bill audibly;"a drop or two afore breakfast sometimes upsets his kind.""I was saying,Bill,"said Mr.Mayfield,becoming utterly limp and weak again under Bill's cold gray eyes,"that I've changed my mind,and shall stop here awhile.My daughter seems already benefited by the change.You can take my traps from the boot and leave them here."Bill laid down his lines resignedly,coolly surveyed Mr.Mayfield,the house,and the half-pleased,half-frightened Jeff,and then proceeded to remove the luggage from the boot,all the while whistling loud and offensive incredulity.Then he climbed back to his box.Mr.Mayfield,completely demoralized under this treatment,as a last resort essayed patronage.

"You can say to the Sacramento agents,Bill,that I am entirely satisfied,and"--"Ye needn't fear but I'll give ye a good character,"interrupted Bill coolly,gathering up his lines.The whip snapped,the six horses dashed forward as one,the coach plunged down the road and was gone.

With its disappearance,Mr.Mayfield stiffened slightly again."Ihave just told your aunt,Mr.Briggs,"he said,turning upon Jeff,"that my daughter has expressed a desire to remain here a few days;she has slept well,seems to be invigorated by the air,and although we expected to go on to the 'Summit,'Mrs.Mayfield and myself are willing to accede to her wishes.Your house seems to be new and clean.Your table--judging from the breakfast this morning--is quite satisfactory."Jeff,in the first flush of delight at this news,forgot what that breakfast had cost him--forgot all his morning's experience,and,Ifear,when he did remember it,was too full of a vague,hopeful courage to appreciate it.Conscious of showing too much pleasure,he affected the necessity of an immediate interview with his aunt,in the kitchen.But his short cut round the house was arrested by a voice and figure.It was Miss Mayfield,wrapped in a shawl and seated in a chair,basking in the sunlight at one of the bleakest and barest angles of the house.Jeff stopped in a delicious tremor.

As we are dealing with facts,however,it would be well to look at the cause of this tremor with our own eyes and not Jeff's.To be plain,my dear madam,as she basked in that remorseless,matter-of-fact California sunshine,she looked her full age-twenty-five,if a day!There were wrinkles in the corners of her dark eyes,contracted and frowning in that strong,merciless light;there was a nervous pallor in her complexion;but being one of those "fast colored"brunettes,whose dyes are a part of their temperament,no sickness nor wear could bleach it out.The red of her small mouth was darker than yours,I wot,and there were certain faint lines from the corners of her delicate nostrils indicating alternate repression and excitement under certain experiences,which are not found in the classic ideals.Now Jeff knew nothing of the classic ideal--did not know that a thousand years ago certain sensual idiots had,with brush and chisel,inflicted upon the world the personification of the strongest and most delicate,most controlling and most subtle passion that humanity is capable of,in the likeness of a thick-waisted,idealess,expressionless,perfectly contented female animal;and that thousands of idiots had since then insisted upon perpetuating this model for the benefit of a world that had gone on sighing for,pining for,fighting for,and occasionally blowing its brains out over types far removed from that idiotic standard.

Consequently Jeff saw only a face full of possibilities and probabilities,framed in a small delicate oval,saw a slight woman's form--more than usually small--and heard a low voice,to him full of gentle pride,passion,pathos,and human weakness,and was helpless.

"I only said 'Good-morning,'"said Miss Mayfield,with that slight,arch satisfaction in the observation of masculine bashfulness,which the best of her sex cannot forego.

"Thank you,miss;good-morning.I've been wanting to say to you that I hope you wasn't mad,you know,"stammered Jeff,desperately intent upon getting off his apology.

"It is so lovely this morning--such a change!"continued Miss Mayfield.