appear strange
that I should try again to study him at home, to find his nest and see
his family. But there is something so bewitching in his individuality,
that, though I may be always baffled, I shall never be discouraged.
Somewhat later, when it was evident that his spouse had arrived and
domestic life had begun, and I became accustomed to hearing a chat in a
certain place every day as I passed, I resolved to make one more effort
to win his confidence, or, if not that, at least his tolerance.

The chat medley for which I was always listening came invariably from
one spot on my pathway up the mountain. It was the lower end of a large
horse pasture, and near the entrance stood a small brick house, in which
no doubt dwelt the owner, or care-taker, of the animals. The wide gate,
in a common fashion of that country, opened in the middle, and was
fastened by a link of iron which dropped over the two centre posts. The
rattle of the iron as I touched it, on the morning I resolved to go in,
brought to the door a woman. She was rather young, with hair cut close
to her head, and wore a dark cotton gown, which was short and scant of
skirt, and covered with a "checked apron." She was evidently at work,
and was probably the mistress, since few in that "working-bee" village
kept maids.

I made my request to go into the pasture to look at the birds.

"Why, certainly," she said, with a courtesy that I have found everywhere
in Utah, though with a slow surprise growing in her face. "Come right
in."

I closed and fastened the gate, and started on past her. Three feet
beyond the doorsteps I was brought to a standstill: the ground as far as
I could see was water-soaked; it was like a saturated sponge. Utah is
dominated by Irrigation; she is a slave to her water supply. One going
there from the land of rains has much to learn of the possibilities and
the inconveniences of water. I was always stumbling upon it in new
combinations and unaccustomed places, and I never could get used to its
vagaries. Books written in the interest of the Territory indulge in
rhapsodies over the fact that every man is his own rain-maker; and I
admit that the arrangement has its advantages--to the cultivator. But
judging from the standpoint of an outsider, I should say that man is not
an improvement upon the original providence which distributes the staff
of life to plants elsewhere, spreading the vital fluid over the whole
land, so evenly that every grass b