d, flushed
with sunset's crimson glory, glided silently away through the solemn
spaces of the wood. At roll-call that evening in the Federal camp the
name William Grayrock brought no response, nor ever again there-after.

CIVILIANS

THE MAN OUT OF THE NOSE

At the intersection of two certain streets in that part of San Francisco
known by the rather loosely applied name of North Beach, is a vacant
lot, which is rather more nearly level than is usually the case with
lots, vacant or otherwise, in that region. Immediately at the back of
it, to the south, however, the ground slopes steeply upward, the
acclivity broken by three terraces cut into the soft rock. It is a place
for goats and poor persons, several families of each class having
occupied it jointly and amicably "from the foundation of the city." One
of the humble habitations of the lowest terrace is noticeable for its
rude resemblance to the human face, or rather to such a simulacrum of it
as a boy might cut out of a hollowed pumpkin, meaning no offense to his
race. The eyes are two circular windows, the nose is a door, the mouth
an aperture caused by removal of a board below. There are no doorsteps.
As a face, this house is too large; as a dwelling, too small. The blank,
unmeaning stare of its lidless and browless eyes is uncanny.

Sometimes a man steps out of the nose, turns, passes the place where the
right ear should be and making his way through the throng of children
and goats obstructing the narrow walk between his neighbors' doors and
the edge of the terrace gains the street by descending a flight of
rickety stairs. Here he pauses to consult his watch and the stranger who
happens to pass wonders why such a man as that can care what is the
hour. Longer observations would show that the time of day is an
important element in the man's movements, for it is at precisely two
o'clock in the afternoon that he comes forth 365 times in every year.

Having satisfied himself that he has made no mistake in the hour he
replaces the watch and walks rapidly southward up the street two
squares, turns to the right and as he approaches the next corner fixes
his eyes on an upper window in a three-story building across the way.
This is a somewhat dingy structure, originally of red brick and now
gray. It shows the touch of age and dust. Built for a dwelling, it is
now a factory. I do not know what is made there; the things that are
commonly made in a factory,