Dr. Mason only excepted.

During a long life John Keeler reaped the reward of sterling integrity.
To the end of his days he remained a poor man. But no one in all Nevada
County was more highly respected. Not that he was much interested in
what other people thought of him, as he strove simply to win the respect
of his own exacting conscience.

Dr. Mason, having at last had the satisfaction of seeing one murderer
brought to justice, felt that he might with dignity retire from the gold
fields, where good Anglo-Saxon ideas of law and order were beginning to
find acceptance. So he moved his family into the plains at the foot of
the Sierras, where in the town of Lincoln, Placer County, they enjoyed a
more genial and happy existence.

Mr. and Mrs. Mat Bailey also moved away from Nevada County. But Mat had
become so strongly addicted to stage-driving that he could not give it
up even to enjoy the continuous society of his bride. He might, for
instance, have become a florist, and employed Mamie as his chief
assistant. Instead of this he took her to what he considered the most
beautiful place on earth.

He established his home in the meadows of the Yosemite Valley, where the
clear waters of the Merced preserve the verdure of the fields the whole
summer through. In midsummer, the floor of the Yosemite Valley is like
an oasis in the desert. On all sides are rough, dry mountains; and if
you follow the river down to the San Joaquin Valley it becomes lost in a
vast parched plain. But between its mountain walls, where Mamie lived
and where Mat pursued his vocation, all is beautiful.

From the mountain height across the river thundered the Yosemite Fall in
all its glory, a sight that allures travelers from the uttermost parts
of the earth. And down the valley a ways was the Bridal Veil, where Mat
and Mamie paused to worship when first they entered that enchanted
valley together.

Their first drive after they went to house-keeping was to Artist Point.
Mamie felt that she never had loved Mat before as she did that day; for
as he exulted in the glories of the valley, with Half Dome at the end
and El Capitan standing in sublime magnificence before them, the scales
fell from her eyes, and she saw in her stage-driver husband the poet and
artist that he really was.

He was artist enough not to attempt to show his sweetheart all the
glories of the Yosemite at once. He took the keenest delight in having
them grow upon her. It was fully