akin'. Roads was needed bad them
days! And at last they hauled out the mud from the bottom to plaster over
the desert that was here, so oranges and olives and grapes could take to
growin'. Sort of wonderful, wasn't it?"

Angela could have told him a great deal more than he had told her, about
these "scientific processes," for her father had been one of the men most
interested in their success. But she kept her knowledge to herself.

"Yes, it's wonderful," she replied. "But--don't you think we'd better be
going on? We've a long way before us, according to the map."

"Yes, we'll go right on," said Sealman. "I just thought I'd stop her and
point out the Santa Ana, for fear you'd miss it." He was anxious to
conceal the fact that it was the Model who had "just thought," but, urging
her to begin again where she had left off, the little brute refused to
budge.

"Is anything wrong?" asked Angela, when Sealman had worked in worried
silence for several minutes.

"Can't see nothing," said he, increasing in codfishiness. "She'll be all
right in a minute. Give her time to breathe!"

Angela gave her time to breathe, but the minute passed, and other minutes
limped after. Sealman sweated and grunted under the open lid of the bright
bonnet. Angela was sorry for him. But she was more sorry for herself, as
she counted the nearest rows of orange-trees for the twenty-fifth time,
following them with her eyes, as they ran up the ankles and legs of the
little yellow mountains. It was luncheon-time, and she was hungry. She had
been reading about the Mission Inn at Riverside, and picturing herself
there, in a cool, large dining-room.

"How far are we from a railway station?" she asked desperately, when her
watch said that they had sat by the Santa Ana's bedside for thirty-five
minutes.

"Can't tell you that, ma'am," snapped Sealman. "But it's too far to walk,
unless you've got seven-league boots."

"What's the matter? Haven't you found out _yet?_"

"Thought it might be the pump. But it doesn't seem to be. I give it up!"
And he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that left green streaks of
oil.

"But you mustn't give it up. We can't stop here all day."

Sealman grinned viciously. Perhaps he, too, hungered. Certainly he was
hot, and felt like a Socialist. What was this young woman that she should
sit there comfortably and nag him while he was down in the dust? "I don't
see any reason against our stayin' all day," said he. "And I g