debris; no bird nor beast carried it away; no
animal ever forced the uncleanly barrier; civilization remained grimly
trenched in its own exuvia. The old terrifying girdle of fire around the
hunter's camp was not more deterring to curious night prowlers than this
coarse and accidental outwork.

When I regained the cabin I found it empty, the doors of the lean-to and
extension closed, but there was a stool set before a rude table, upon
which smoked a tin cup of coffee, a tin dish of hot saleratus biscuit,
and a plate of fried beef. There was something odd and depressing in
this silent exclusion of my presence. Had Johnson's "old woman" from
some dark post of observation taken a dislike to my appearance, or was
this churlish withdrawal a peculiarity of Sierran hospitality? Or was
Mrs. Johnson young and pretty, and hidden under the restricting ban of
Johnson's jealousy, or was she a deformed cripple, or even a bedridden
crone? From the extension at times came a murmur of voices, but never
the accents of adult womanhood. The gathering darkness, relieved only by
a dull glow from the smouldering logs in the adobe chimney, added to my
loneliness. In the circumstances I knew I ought to have put aside the
repast and given myself up to gloomy and pessimistic reflection; but
Nature is often inconsistent, and in that keen mountain air, I grieve
to say, my physical and moral condition was not in that perfect accord
always indicated by romancers. I had an appetite and I gratified it;
dyspepsia and ethical reflections might come later. I ate the saleratus
biscuit cheerfully, and was meditatively finishing my coffee when a
gurgling sound from the rafters above attracted my attention. I looked
up; under the overhang of the bark roof three pairs of round eyes were
fixed upon me. They belonged to the children I had previously seen,
who, in the attitude of Raphael's cherubs, had evidently been deeply
interested spectators of my repast. As our eyes met an inarticulate
giggle escaped the lips of the youngest.

I never could understand why the shy amusement of children over their
elders is not accepted as philosophically by its object as when it
proceeds from an equal. We fondly believe that when Jones or Brown
laughs at us it is from malice, ignorance, or a desire to show his
superiority, but there is always a haunting suspicion in our minds that
these little critics REALLY see something in us to laugh at. I, however,
smiled affably in retu