to his queer
hut,--knives, forks, combs, nails, tin cups, spectacles, etc.,--merely,
however, to strengthen his fortifications, I guess. His food at home, as
far as I have learned, is nearly the same as that of the
squirrels,--nuts, berries, seeds, and sometimes the bark and tender
shoots of the various species of ceanothus.

_July 2._ Warm, sunny day, thrilling plant and animals and rocks alike,
making sap and blood flow fast, and making every particle of the crystal
mountains throb and swirl and dance in glad accord like star-dust. No
dullness anywhere visible or thinkable. No stagnation, no death.
Everything kept in joyful rhythmic motion in the pulses of Nature's big
heart.

Pearl cumuli over the higher mountains--clouds, not with a silver
lining, but all silver. The brightest, crispest, rockiest-looking
clouds, most varied in features and keenest in outline I ever saw at any
time of year in any country. The daily building and unbuilding of these
snowy cloud-ranges--the highest Sierra--is a prime marvel to me, and I
gaze at the stupendous white domes, miles high, with ever fresh
admiration. But in the midst of these sky and mountain affairs a change
of diet is pulling us down. We have been out of bread a few days, and
begin to miss it more than seems reasonable for we have plenty of meat
and sugar and tea. Strange we should feel food-poor in so rich a
wilderness. The Indians put us to shame, so do the squirrels,--starchy
roots and seeds and bark in abundance, yet the failure of the meal sack
disturbs our bodily balance, and threatens our best enjoyments.

_July 3._ Warm. Breeze just enough to sift through the woods and waft
fragrance from their thousand fountains. The pine and fir cones are
growing well, resin and balsam dripping from every tree, and seeds are
ripening fast, promising a fine harvest. The squirrels will have bread.
They eat all kinds of nuts long before they are ripe, and yet never seem
to suffer in stomach.

CHAPTER III

A BREAD FAMINE

_July 4._ The air beyond the flock range, full of the essences of the
woods, is growing sweeter and more fragrant from day to day, like
ripening fruit.

Mr. Delaney is expected to arrive soon from the lowlands with a new
stock of provisions, and as the flock is to be moved to fresh pastures
we shall all be well fed. In the mean time our stock of beans as well as
flour has failed--everything but mutton, sugar, and tea. The shepherd is
somewhat demor