, found her in no disposition to rest. It was
not activity that she craved, or excitement, or pleasure. An unerring
instinct, rising dear from the thronging sensations of the last few
days, told her that she had missed something in life. It could not have
been love, for she loved brother, sister, parents, friends; it could not
have been consideration for the poor, the unfortunate, the hapless; she
had expressed her sympathy for these by giving freely; it could not have
been pleasure, culture, travel, society, wealth, position, fame, for
these had been hers all her life. Whatever this something was, she
had baffling intimations of it, hopes that faded on the verge of
realizations, haunting promises that were unfulfilled. Whatever it was,
it had remained hidden and unknown at home, and here in the West it
began to allure and drive her to discovery. Therefore she could not
rest; she wanted to go and see; she was no longer chasing phantoms; it
was a hunt for treasure that held aloof, as intangible as the substance
of dreams.

That morning she spoke a desire to visit the Mexican quarters lying at
the base of the foothills. Florence protested that this was no place to
take Madeline. But Madeline insisted, and it required only a few words
and a persuading smile to win Florence over.

From the porch the cluster of adobe houses added a picturesque touch of
color and contrast to the waste of gray valley. Near at hand they proved
the enchantment lent by distance. They were old, crumbling, broken down,
squalid. A few goats climbed around upon them; a few mangy dogs barked
announcement of visitors; and then a troop of half-naked, dirty,
ragged children ran out. They were very shy, and at first retreated in
affright. But kind words and smiles gained their confidence, and then
they followed in a body, gathering a quota of new children at each
house. Madeline at once conceived the idea of doing something to better
the condition of these poor Mexicans, and with this in mind she decided
to have a look indoors. She fancied she might have been an apparition,
judging from the effect her presence had upon the first woman she
encountered. While Florence exercised what little Spanish she had
command of, trying to get the women to talk, Madeline looked about the
miserable little rooms. And there grew upon her a feeling of sickness,
which increased as she passed from one house to another. She had not
believed such squalor could exist anywhere i