, but with no line that could have brought a blush to the
cheek of modesty--not that the college chum is necessarily given to the
inditing of such epistles. These letters were signed "Jack."

"Jack" wrote to say how the world was all in bloom and the rose-garden
one bewildering maze of blossoms; how Mama was still embroidering from
nature in the midst thereof, crowned with a wreath of butterflies and
with one uncommonly large one perched upon her Psyche shoulder and
fanning her cheek with its brilliantly dyed wing; how Eugene was
reveling in his art, painting lovely pictures of the old Spanish
Missions with shadowy outlines of the ghostly fathers, long since
departed, haunting the dismantled cloisters; how the air was like the
breath of heaven, and the twilight unspeakably pathetic, and they were
all three constantly reminded of Italy and forever talking of Rome and
the Campagna, and Venice, and imagining themselves at home again and
Paul with them, for they had resolved that he was quite out of his
element in California; they had sworn he must be rescued; he must return
with them to Italy and that right early. He must wind up his affairs and
set his house in order at once and forever; he should never go back to
it again, but live a new life and a gentler life in that oldest and most
gentle of lands; they simply _must_ take him with them and seat him by
the shore of the Venetian Sea, where he could enjoy his melancholy, if
he must be melancholy, and find himself for the first time provided with
a suitable background. This letter came to him inlaid with rose petals;
they showered upon him in all their fragrance as he read the inspiring
pages and, since "Jack" with quite a martial air had issued a mandate
which ran as follows, "Order No. 19--Paul Clitheroe will, upon receipt
of this, report immediately at headquarters at Santa Rosa," he placed
the key of his outer door in his pocket and straightway departed without
more ado.

* * * * *

They swung in individual hammocks, Paul and "Jack," within the
rose-screened veranda. The conjugal affinities, Violet and Eugene, were
lost to the world in the depths of the rose-garden beyond sight and
hearing.

Said Jack, resuming a rambling conversation which had been interrupted
by the noisy passage of a bee, "That particular bee reminds me of some
people who fret over their work, and who make others who are seeking
rest, extremely uncomfortable."