knew; all record was lost.
Outside in the wild thicket was a tomb still more ancient, and of
different construction: four slabs of stone, uncovered, about three feet
high, rudely but firmly placed, as though inclosing a coffin. In the
earth between these low walls grew a venerable cedar; but, old as it
was, it must have been planted by chance or by hand after the human body
beneath had been laid in its place.

"Why do you come here?" said Deal, pausing and looking into the place of
tombs, one morning, on his way to the orange-grove. "There are plenty of
pleasanter spots about."

"No; I like this better," answered Carl, without stopping the low chant
of his violin. "Besides, they like it too."

"Who?"

"The old fellows down below. The chap outside there, who must have been
an Aztec, I suppose, and the original proprietor, catches a little of
it; but I generally limp over and give him a tune to himself before
going home. I have to imagine the Aztec style."

Mark gave a short laugh, and went on to his work. But he knew the real
reason for Carl's fancy for the place; between the slim, clean trunks of
the orange-trees, the long green line of South Devil bounded the
horizon, the flat tops of the cypresses far above against the sky, and
the vines and silver moss filling the space below--a luxuriant wall
across the broad, thinly-treed expanses of the pine barrens.

One evening in January Deal came homeward as usual at sunset, and found
a visitor. Carl introduced him. "My friend Schwartz," he said. Schwartz
merited his name; he was dark in complexion, hair, and eyes, and if he
had any aims they were dark also. He was full of anecdotes and jests,
and Carl laughed heartily; Mark had never heard him laugh in that way
before. The elder brother ordered a good supper, and played the host as
well as he could; but, in spite of the anecdotes, he did not altogether
like friend Schwartz. Early the next morning, while the visitor was
still asleep, he called Carl outside, and asked in an undertone who he
was.

"Oh, I met him first in Berlin, and afterward I knew him in New York,"
said Carl. "All the orchestra fellows know Schwartz."

"Is he a musician, then?"

"Not exactly; but he used to be always around, you know."

"How comes he down here?"

"Just chance. He had an offer from a sort of a--of a restaurant, up in
San Miguel, a new place recently opened. The other day he happened to
find out that I was here, and so came down to