tly cool even on the
hottest days.

As time went on the mistress of this sylvan paradise grew more and
more attached to it, and she at length decided to build more permanent
quarters. First of all, she made a model of a house out of match
boxes, with pebbles for the foundation wall, all glued together,
painted and complete. Then she hired a country carpenter and built her
house--a pleasant little dwelling, with a wide veranda extending in
country fashion around two sides of it.

In building the foundation wall boulders from the stream were used,
and many were found bearing bold imprints of fossil ferns, birds, and
snakes. Mrs. Stevenson was delighted to have these reminders of a past
age for her wall, but, alas, during her absence the stones were all
cemented in place with the nice smooth sides outward and the fossils
turned inward.

Although it was so different from the tropic island that had now
become but a tender memory, yet there was much about this place that
recalled Vailima days--the sweet seclusion, the rich greenery all
about, the music of the little tinkling stream, and, above all, the
morning song of the multitudes of birds. It was for this, and perhaps
to make a link between her California home and that other far across
the wide Pacific that she chose to call the little ranch in the Santa
Cruz Mountains Vanumanutagi, vale of the singing birds.

At Vanumanutagi Mrs. Stevenson led a simple life, spending most of her
time out-of-doors and occupying herself with plans for the planting
and improvement of the land. The house was simply furnished, and the
country people were charmed with the gay chintz and bright
wall-paper, the brick fireplace, and the general appropriateness of it
all. As it was not large, tents were put up for the family and guests
to sleep in.

Even this peaceful spot had its excitements, for in the autumn, when
the undergrowth everywhere was as dry as tinder, its quiet was
sometimes disturbed by the outbreak of California's summer
terror--forest-fires. One of the worst of these happened when Mrs.
Stevenson was at the ranch with only her sister Elizabeth[70] and a
maid. It came suddenly, and the first they knew of it was the sight of
what they took to be sea fog, rolling and tumbling over the tops of
the hills. They soon knew it for what it was when it came pouring down
into the valley and they began to choke with its acrid smell.
Presently horsemen came galloping by on their way to war