Eleven miles from Tulare a tall country boy came out from the shadows as we passed through a little village and asked if he might ride to Tulare with us. We tucked away his bulky newspaper bundle in the machine and gave him permission to sit on the tool box, which was fastened on the running-board. He thanked us warmly when we reached the quiet streets of Tulare and offered to pay us, but of course we assured him that we were glad to have given him a lift. We did not often do this as we were always afraid some one would be hurt in riding on the running-board. We had a comfortable room at the Hotel St. Maxon, and drove on the next day through the fertile valley to Fresno. Now we were in the region of rich vineyards and luxuriant fig trees. For the first time, as we approached Fresno, I saw whole orchards of fig trees. Fresno is a pretty town with the wide, bright streets and look of prosperity of so many California towns. It is the home of several thousand Armenian and Greek workers. Only that morning the Young Women's Christian Association had welcomed to Fresno a little woman who had come all the way from Constantinople to meet her husband. The town pays the price for being the seat of the raisin industry by being very hot in summer. [Illustration: 1. Old Grizzly, Mariposa Big Trees. 2. Old Sunset, Mariposa Big Trees.] From Fresno we drove across somewhat uninteresting country, rolling and solitary, diversified only by grain fields and stacks of alfalfa, to Madera. At Madera we turned our faces toward the high Sierras, going on to Raymond with a view to driving over the mountain road to Wawona, one of the gates of the Yosemite and very near to the famous Mariposa Grove of Big Trees. CHAPTER VI