r farmers throughout all the
valley. He knew very well how widespread had been the distress the last
two years. With their own tenants on Los Muertos, affairs had reached
the stage of desperation. Derrick had practically been obliged to
"carry" Hooven and some of the others. The Governor himself had made
almost nothing during the last season; a third year like the last, with
the price steadily sagging, meant nothing else but ruin.

But here he checked himself. Two consecutive dry seasons in California
were almost unprecedented; a third would be beyond belief, and the
complete rest for nearly all the land was a compensation. They had
made no money, that was true; but they had lost none. Thank God, the
homestead was free of mortgage; one good season would more than make up
the difference.

He was in a better mood by the time he reached the driveway that led up
to the ranch house, and as he raised his eyes toward the house itself,
he could not but feel that the sight of his home was cheering. The ranch
house was set in a great grove of eucalyptus, oak, and cypress, enormous
trees growing from out a lawn that was as green, as fresh, and as
well-groomed as any in a garden in the city. This lawn flanked all one
side of the house, and it was on this side that the family elected to
spend most of its time. The other side, looking out upon the Home ranch
toward Bonneville and the railroad, was but little used. A deep porch
ran the whole length of the house here, and in the lower branches of a
live-oak near the steps Harran had built a little summer house for his
mother. To the left of the ranch house itself, toward the County Road,
was the bunk-house and kitchen for some of the hands. From the steps of
the porch the view to the southward expanded to infinity. There was not
so much as a twig to obstruct the view. In one leap the eye reached
the fine, delicate line where earth and sky met, miles away. The flat
monotony of the land, clean of fencing, was broken by one spot only, the
roof of the Division Superintendent's house on Three--a mere speck, just
darker than the ground. Cutter's house on Four was not even in sight.
That was below the horizon.

As Harran came up he saw his mother at breakfast. The table had been set
on the porch and Mrs. Derrick, stirring her coffee with one hand, held
open with the other the pages of Walter Pater's "Marius." At her feet,
Princess Nathalie, the white Angora cat, sleek, over-fed, self-centre