"Oh, next an orange-packing factory. You'd enjoy seeing the oranges running like mad down a sloping trough, pretending they're all equal, till the boys watching spy out the bruised ones that are sneaking along, and pitch 'em away before they can say 'knife.' By and by the small, no-account oranges are sent about their business, which is to play second fiddle, and the big, noble-fellows, who're worthy to succeed, fall first into the hands of girls, who wrap them up in squares of white paper. My faith, but those girls' hands go fast! It makes you feel like heat-lightning just to watch 'em fly! Anybody who wants to can order a box of picked oranges, each wrapped in paper, with a lady's name and a verse in her honour printed on it. Lots of fellows do that. When you'd seen the factory I'd drive you back to Los Angeles, and we'd get there after dark. But there's a searchlight on my car equal to a light on a battleship, and her name alone's enough to illuminate the road. I've christened her Bright Angel." He paused for half a second; but if the analogy meant anything to his companion she did not choose that he should know. "And then?" she said. "Then--if you'd seen enough of Los Angeles, I'd ask you to let your Irish girl pack up. And I'd start off with you--for good. I mean, you and the maid, and the cat, and Billy. Billy's the other shuvver, besides me. I'd take you to Santa Barbara." "That's one of the places on my programme." "And Monterey." "Another of my places. But I want to go to the Yosemite. You couldn't motor me there." "I could guide you. I've known horses longer than I've known motors. And I know the Yosemite. Once I got hurt in a kind of accident. I wasn't good for much, for a while afterward. And as I couldn't do any work I went and loafed in the Yosemite Valley. I'd always wanted to go. It was grand. But it would be heaven to see it again with y--with an angel." Angela traced the steel embroidery on a gray _suède_ bag which lay on the table. She had got it the other day to serve as understudy for the gold bag which was "taboo" for public use at present. She was glad that the forest creature did not know, and never would know, that she had secretly bought back his gold bag. If he found out, it might be his turn to misunderstand. "How were you hurt in an accident?" she asked, for the sake of diverting the talk from angels. "It was in a fire," said Nick. "Oh! On your ranch." "No. In San Francisco." Her interest grew. "In the great fire?" "Yes." "Did you live in San Francisco then?" "No. I just went there." "I think I guess. You went on purpose to help?" "I felt as if every man ought to do what he could. I couldn't do much. Shall we go on making believe?" "You don't like talking of your good deeds."