g but a few feet of water, was so fine
that hardly a spring had passed without a visit from the tenants of
Lumalitas, who were constrained by the terms of the lease to keep the
house in repair. Of late this had been the duty of the sub-lessee, and
as no teams passed his isolated dwelling, and as he had not seen fit to
answer his landlord's communications, even verbally, by the boy from one
of the lower ranches who had carried up the missives, all Gwynne knew
was that Mr. Clink was alive, and that the ranch was free of winter
debris.

They found the gentleman sitting on a stump. He had a hand on either
knee, and his small watery unblinking eyes were fixed on space. A beard,
narrow and grizzled and stained, rested on his lean front, or stirred
gently in the breeze. He neither rose, nor otherwise noticed the
approach of his visitors.

Gwynne called, shouted, approached the verge of profanity, but he might
as well have addressed the silent forest.

Isabel elevated her nose. "To use the vernacular, he is on a long, slow,
melancholy jag. I will go in and see how he keeps the house. It needs an
airing at least. Every window is closed and probably has been all
winter."

She remained in-doors half an hour, putting things to rights with many
mysterious touches known only to her sex. When she returned to Gwynne
she found him sunning himself on the porch with his back to Mr. Clink,
who stolidly regarded an old stump of geranium.

"It is clean enough," she said. "But when you come, bring new
blankets--or send them, and your provisions--the day before you bring
your guests. I will come up with them and see that everything is in
order. I might also turn the hose on Clink, if he has chosen that
occasion to drench himself inside. At all events bring a cook--you can
have Chuma; these people never can cook anything but fried meat and
potatoes."

Drifted leaves lay on the porch a foot deep. Isabel found a broom and
swept vigorously, snubbing Gwynne's offer to do it himself. He watched
her, crossly reflecting that she was never so unattractive as in that
dust-colored divided habit, and wishing that he had waited for the
evening hour; even if infrequently seductive, she was always lovely in a
becoming gown.

Finally, her labors over, she dusted an aged rocking-chair and sat down,
fanning herself with her hat. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes
sparkling, but she turned to look at the beautiful creek that had torn
its way through