amson swung his hat and cried:

"And may God bless Our Lady Jess! And may every man who seeks to injure
her be--stricken with numb palsy! And may every crop be doubled, prices
likewise! Peace, prosperity and happiness to Sobrante--destruction to
her enemies!"

"Forgiveness for her enemies, Samson, dear, if there really are. That
will be nobler, more like father's rule. Make it peace, prosperity and
happiness to all the world! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"

Mr. Hale clapped his hands to his ears, then hastily moved forward and
joined in the cheer, that was deafening enough to have come from many
more throats than uttered it. Yet he had an uncomfortable feeling that
he might be classed among those "enemies" whom Samson wished afflicted
with numb palsy and that, at that moment, he was, by no fault of his
own, playing a double part.

But he gave himself the benefit of the doubt until he should learn, as
he meant to do at once, the whole history of Sobrante with its strange
hodge-podge of industries, its veteran employees, and its childish
"captain." So, while the ranchmen dispersed to their business and
Jessica sought her long-delayed breakfast, he turned towards the kitchen
where he hoped to find the mistress of the ranch.

But he was disappointed. There was visible only the broad,
purple-covered back and black pig-tail of a Chinaman, pounding away
at the snowy loaves of his kneading-board, as if they were "enemies"
of his own and deserving something much worse than "numb palsy."

"Wun Lung!"

No answer, save the whack, whack, whack of the tormented dough.

"Ahem. I say, John!"

Whack, whack.

"Wun Lung, where's your mistress?"

"Dlaily."

"Indeed? I fancy your hand is better. I'm glad of it. That bread
ought to be fine. At your leisure, kindly point the direction of the
'dlaily,' will you?"

One yellow, floury hand was lifted and extended eastward, but as this
signified nothing definite to the stranger he continued his inquiries.

"Where's Pasqual?"

"Sclub."

"And the little boys?"

"Alle glone."

"I congratulate you on your English, though I'm uncertainly whether
you mean me to 'go on' or assert that somebody else has gone on. I
don't like to disturb Miss Jessica at breakfast, but----"

"Back polchee," suggested Wun Lung, anxious to be rid of the intruder,
whose irony he suspected if he did not understand.

Mr. Hale betook himself around the house, and, fortunately, in the right
direction; for jus