or the good-humor that beamed from her small berry-like eyes and shone
in her white teeth, would have been repulsive. She was short and stout.
In her scant drapery and unrestrained freedom she was hardly statuesque,
and her more unstudied attitudes were marred by a simian habit of softly
scratching her left ankle with the toes of her right foot, in moments of
contemplation.

I think I have already shown enough to indicate the incongruity of her
existence with even the low standard of civilization that obtained
at Logport in the year 1860. It needed but one more fact to prove the
far-sighted poetical sagacity and prophetic ethics of those sincere
advocates of extermination, to whose virtues I have done but scant
justice in the beginning of this article. This fact was
presently furnished by the Princess. After one of her periodical
disappearances,--this time unusually prolonged,--she astonished Logport
by returning with a half-breed baby of a week old in her arms. That
night a meeting of the hard-featured serious matrons of Logport was held
at Mrs. Brown's. The immediate banishment of the Princess was demanded.
Soft-hearted Mrs. Brown endeavored vainly to get a mitigation or
suspension of the sentence. But, as on a former occasion, the Princess
took matters into her own hands. A few mornings afterwards, a wicker
cradle containing an Indian baby was found hanging on the handle of
the door of the First Baptist Church. It was the Parthian arrow of the
flying Princess. From that day Logport knew her no more.

It had been a bright clear day on the upland, so clear that the ramparts
of Fort Jackson and the flagstaff were plainly visible twelve miles away
from the long curving peninsula that stretched a bared white arm around
the peaceful waters of Logport Bay. It had been a clear day upon the
sea-shore, albeit the air was filled with the flying spume and shifting
sand of a straggling beach whose low dunes were dragged down by the long
surges of the Pacific and thrown up again by the tumultuous trade-winds.
But the sun had gone down in a bank of fleecy fog that was beginning to
roll in upon the beach. Gradually the headland at the entrance of the
harbor and the lighthouse disappeared, then the willow fringe that
marked the line of Salmon River vanished, and the ocean was gone. A
few sails still gleamed on the waters of the bay; but the advancing
fog wiped them out one by one, crept across the steel-blue expanse,
swallowed up