N SOME out of the way corners of California, a traveler if blinded to natural scenery would have no slight difficulty in telling through what part of our country he was journeying. In whole villages he would find a certain smug comfort of neat homes, with tidied up front yards, all cut off the same pattern; a general air, too, of selfcomplacency equal to all demands of this life, or the next, that would announce "Ioway" even before the flat-footed vowels of the first passer by betrayed it. Other neighborhoods are English, superlatively so, just as a convert to the Episcopal church is nothing if not ritualistic. Down in a fold of the Santa Cruz mountains is a bit of Swiss Tyrol, and on their eastern slope lies a whole neighborhood of old ship captains who discuss the prune harvest in racy terms of the

sea.

We have colonies, too, of all sorts, but these intentional variations from the ordinary type have no such flavor as those nature has taken a hand in herself, and among all the various communities, for one that has bred true to the old stock, and yet developed a life all its own, commend me to the Upper Valley.

A great river runs through it, shut in by mountain ranges which slope farther and farther apart, until between them lies, not a valley, but a wide plain, broken in its upper portion by rocky buttes and ending in marshes where it meets the bay. Between the mountains and plain lies a pleasant land with park-like stretches of oak, and streams thick set with sycamore and poplar, which live and sing all through the dry summer months, fed by the inexhaustible springs of the Sierra.

Three little towns, or two villages and a

city, as some of us prefer to say, divide this land among them, and mark as it were, the surf line of the flow of popular immigration. In the extreme northern end stands Miners' Flat, that embodied the rush and excitement of '49, now tame enough, with but one mill running, and that a flour mill. Wheatville, down on the plains, receives the later comers, who fain would enter in, but cannot find room among the great holdings of earlier days; and Bragton, there indeed is the quintessence of it all, the flowering of the secluded life of the whole valley.

Shut off by mountain ranges and great stretches of plain, it has succeeded in keeping itself apart from the wild hurry of our days, save for the railroad which, however, has mercy, and spares too sudden shock by sending all except local traffic through in the night. Think of a place in which the telegraph is used only in case of sudden death, in which one would have scruples in mentioning Evolution, considering the late unpleasantness over the Copernican theory, in which sewing circles and similar affairs have not fallen before the victorious approach of Browning clubs, in which still flourish mildly clerical festivities "called in their language" "mite societies," "but in ours,"-alas, ours lacks a fitting term.

The whole region round about was settled largely from Missouri, and into Bragton there gathered those who found the miner's life too arduous or too uncertain, and the rich wheatland below the town spreading for miles about it, far more to their taste. Next followed thrifty souls who saw the value of trade at one hundred per cent on every miner's dollar, and from these two classes come the solid residents, the old families.

But why try unbeaten ways? Let us return to classic paths, for we see in Bragton all Cæsar found in Gaul, even to Orgetorix, "the bravest and richest of them all."

In the north central part of the village, separated by the Little Bragton on the left, and the Westminster catechism to north,

south, and east, under the long shadow of the Presbyterian spire, dwell the Bragtonii proper. Here stand the typical homes, large, square white houses, set in generous lawns broken by beds of whatever flower the Ladies' Home Friend announces as the fashion.

To the dwellers in these homes riches have come, at least to the amount of a comfortable competence, either by gathering in the money galore of mining days, or by the increasing value of the land, but whatever the source, this is the first, the great and distinguishing mark of true old residents, a comfortable sense of a snug bank account touched with complacency, shall I say, that all mankind, nay even more, all the Bragtonii, do not share in it.

The second part of the town lies geographically and socially a little to the left and below Bragton proper. The gardens are not so large, nor the changes in the flowers so numerous, but still the roses bloom, and the first spring days that make the streets a garden and the air new wine linger as long and soften into just such moonlit nights as bless the dwellers in the broader streets. The edges of these regions lap somewhat, and sometimes the elect of the first visit the Methodist meetings of the

second, though they deprecate the great stress laid on the feelings, or some good brother or sister will pray fervently that the sister church be not puffed up with riches and the pomp of this world. The children, too, of the districts play in amiable unconsciousness and sometimes "the sons of God see the daughters of men that they are fair" with the same result as of yore, to the consequent wrath of Bragtonian mothers and fathers. But why talk we of fathers when there is such a man as "Orgetorix."

But that inevitable and exasperating third which is neither fish nor fowl, exists also in Bragton, geographically below the railroad track, socially below the lowest frost line, spiritually turned over to the Salvation Army or any other irregular body that would have pity upon it. Yet here too the grass comes up in the lanes each spring and the blue heavens are reflected in the pools left by the winter rains, and because there are not so many houses and tree-lined avenues, the whole great arch of the sky seems to bend more broadly, more tenderly over the people. Still that is only a matter of taste, whether one prefers the whole sky or a carefully selected and arranged for bit, between the tops of shade trees.

IT

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I. ORGETORIX.

WAS not a pleasant night to be out, for the wind blew from all quarters at once and the rain seemed fairly shot at one from some giant watering spray. The uptown crossings were black pools, lit by flickering lamps, but in the lower streets there were

no lights except bobbing lanterns now and then, where men in rubber coats were piloting little groups of women whose capes, swollen into all sorts of undue proportions, were suggestive of tucked up finery underneath.

Main street with its Christmas shops was filled with a jolly crowd, but their late pur

chases of cheap toys and candy were not such as to call forth the provident and wellto-do from the long tree-lined avenue. Nevertheless the avenue furnished its quota and group after group turned the corner down the short drive, where through the rain bars of light from the windows of a great square house shone out into the darkness. It was not chiefly for the few guests who came in carriages that the porte de chaise at the home of Orgetorix was lighted. Bragton would have resented the inference that it could not all come in carriages, had it so desired, and tonight, indeed, the rattle of wheels was not infrequent, for the winter had been a gay one, and to many a youth and maid the going in a carriage was the commencement of "serious intentions," as we say.

But whether we left carriage or only rubbers at the door, once within, there seemed few who did not feel a sudden distrust of their own acquaintance with a dress suit, as Horace piloted us to dressing room or parlor. He wore his every night, while ours, the faint odor of camphor or cedar closet was even more pervasive than its steady disregard on our part. It used to seem that we were having a full dress rehearsal, and a little anxious as to our cue, while Horace was having the party. Still we smiled serenely on each other's best clothes and did our best.

The lower floor was given over largely to office and library, now thrown open and gay with holly.

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Come up from down below," Mr. Larramore told me, adding immediately, "I reckon about two bits a bunch in the city, let alone the express on it; may be a little cheaper, bein' he got a lot of it."

In the library the shelf upon shelf of leather bound law showed the work of the host, and a case of tin boxes with the names of the neighboring great ranches, his special place among us. I saw one man pass by the door of an inner office as if the ghost of an evil memory lurked there, Mr. Smith Mr. Hay Smith, I mean, for we added the occupation to the tribal names, for easier designation. He did find the spirit of a certain little transaction in mortgages by which the Norton girls so nearly lost their ranch. He found it later again in the eyes of his host and he seemed to grow smaller and cringe out of sight, in spite of his loud voice. But not only such memories peopled the

house, for to the Norton girls themselves, that very room seemed almost a part of the old homestead, and among its law books perhaps a few of their old fashioned thanksgivings were still lingering. But of course the Norton girls were not there that night. That would have been mixing company indeed, and in such matters Orgetorix was nothing if not conventional.

Up the broad stairway the guests streamed, where in the parlors above, the host stood, a blasé man of the world apparently, yet showing now and then, in voice or manner, the dogged assertion of the self-made man, or more rarely the timidity that has known the easy graces of life only in books rose in him. By his side in a low wheeled chair sat his sister, small almost to dwarfishness, but no grace of stature could have given added dignity. I have seen brother and sister when face answered to face, heart to heart, but never have I seen pride answer to pride as between those two.

Örgetorix nodded to me over the heads of the crowd, a little stiff perhaps, but genial nevertheless, and when I came to meet his sister, neither showed a trace of an almost imperceptible hauteur that I had noticed in their greetings to others, and I felt a little flattered perhaps, until I saw that with another city guest their manner was the same as with me.

There was evidently some entertainment provided beside the usual Christmas cheer, for the guests were seated in the two parlors, before the closed doors of the billiard room, seated not by class, exactly, yet the solid business families of Bragton formed one phalanx, and the large ranchers another. We do not blend easily, we of the Bragton elite, and only the bevy of young folk home for the holidays seemed able to meet on thoroughly common ground. Still the divisions tonight were not ecclesiastical, for the reason that everybody that is anybody among us belongs to the same flock.

"Private theatricals, maybe?" I asked the Scotch divine who sat near me, the lambs of whose fold were gamboling before him.

"I doubt it," he said, looking at me half quizzically.

"Charades?"

"I doubt it," he responded again.

I wondered if he was trying the old game

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'Well, I always wait until it is over before I begin to imagine what it's to be. People are usually surprised."

I waited impatiently. Was it to be comic recitals?a Christmas pantomime? All sorts of improbabilities came to me, and I thought what a different fellow the real Orgetorix must be from the man I had known in the city. From where I sat I could see his sister's face, calm, haughtier perhaps, as she talked with the people about her through the long waiting.

But the strains of a Christmas carol began to sound softly as from a distance, growing still clearer when the conversation was hushed.

"God save you, merry gentlemen, May nothing you annoy!"

I had not expected anything so poetic and was on the qui rire.

Suddenly the doors were thrown open and there stood Orgetorix before a great Christmas tree, laden from lowest bough to tip with all heart could desire — that is, the heart of a four year old boy, who was coming in with his nurse. The child stood for a moment spellbound, not seeing the people, only the wonder of brilliant colors and twinkling lights before him. Then he saw Orgetorix, and with a quick cry of joy ran into the arms stretched out to receive him.

"Charming exhibition of paternal love," I said, "but queer occasion, before the multitude."

"No paternal love about it," answered the clergyman. "Nothing of the kind. The child is no relative of his, only his clerk's boy, but he does seem the only living being the man ever really loved, old gossip to the contrary. Do you see the lady over there in brown? - no, the pretty one. That is the lad's mother, and if she was not the bravest girl, as well as the prettiest this town ever raised, I believe he would fairly browbeat her out of the boy; for he winds the lad's father about his little finger. As it is he has the child here half the time."

While we were talking the two chief actors were oblivious of the company. I expected

every moment to see Orgetorix turn to address us, but he seemed as wrapped up in the child's pleasure as the child himself. Presently he began to strip the tree.

"What will Santa Claus bring you? I bid for a candy cane," I said.

"No use to bid at all; for I think I understand his party. It's the anniversary, man, the anniversary!" And I fear a rather unholy joy laughed in the good man's tones for a moment. It was only a moment, however, for he said, softly, more to himself than to me, "It was a sour welcome to the young man and a hard, but I wish he could let it go."

I did not like to question, besides I knew a Scotchman needs but to have the fly thrown skilfully to rise delighted to a nibble; so I watched the people around me. At first there had been genuine pleasure in the surprise, and if I mistake not, the pleasing expectancy a laden tree awakens even in the oldest of us. Who knows where the golden apples may hang? But as the boxes of blocks followed jumping jacks and rubber balls, toy wagons, the smiles upon the faces of the audience grew a trifle more well bred and determined. Orgetorix by this time turned to us occasionally, with some comment on the child before him; still, interest of that sort is not exciting, especially on a stretch of nearly an hour. At last when even the boy was tired and almost asleep among his treasures, Orgetorix gravely put him into his nurse's arms, and dignified as ever, in a few minutes led Mrs. Morton out to the supper room.

A last an especially good cigar was the fly to which the Doctor rose, and as we watched the people through the glass doors of the conservatory he settled himself to begin.