"I know that, Howard and I aren't any account, any longer," said Marjorie, in an injured tone, from her seat on the rail. "Howard, which of us shall get broken to pieces, so the other can 'tend to it?" "What's the use?" returned Howard languidly. "Our noses are out of joint now, and it doesn't seem to do us any good." "Oh, by thunder!" exclaimed Grant, suddenly. "Grant, dear, what words!" said his sister reprovingly. "Can't help it, Lou; look there! Dr. Hornblower is coming down the road, and I can see, by the northeast corner of his weather eye, that he's going to stop and make us a visit." "Dr. Hornblower? Do put me out of sight somewhere," begged Charlie. "What for? You've never seen him, and he's lots of fun," said Howard, without the faintest appearance of respect for the clerical brother. "I know, but I'd rather meet him some time when I don't feel so much like a mummy in a museum," urged Charlie again. "Can't you get me out of this, Ned?" "There isn't time, honestly. He's right here, or I would," answered Ned in a low voice, as he drew his friend's soft hat forward and turned down the brim. "You're all right; and, besides, he's such an old duffer that he won't notice anything. He won't stay here, any way; he comes to see cousin Euphemia, and help her out when she gets in a tight place with Wang Kum. Wang's been cutting church lately, and most likely the doctor's come to see about it." The Reverend Gabriel Hornblower belonged to the fast vanishing school of mossbacks, or "old-timers," as they more elegantly termed themselves, the early settlers who had watched the State grow from its first squatter population to its present comparative civilization. A mere boy in the stormy days of Sixty-three, he had joined one of the many trains of ox-teams which started across the country, on their slow, toilsome march to the far West; and, for the next few years, his life had been one of continual excitement and hardship. His father and grandfather before him had been ministers; so it was small wonder that Gabriel, upon arriving at man's estate, should feel that both his family tradition and his name had called him to the life of a wandering preacher among the mining camps and scattered ranches of the region, until he had finally settled down to take charge of the little church in Blue Creek. He was neither a great man, nor an educated one. On the contrary, he was ignorant of any life outside of his own narrow sphere, and intolerant of all spirit of advance or change, singularly devoid of tact, but literal, honest, and well-meaning. Moreover, he was absolutely self-satisfied, but utterly lacking in the sense of fun which makes conceited people so much less disagreeable, since it gives them a glimmering appreciation of their own absurdity.