I looked wistfully at Toby. We had been warned we might not get through to Pine, because of snow drifts in the passes, and it was only an hour to dark, over twisting and unknown hill roads, but our recent trapeze work had left us with an all-gone feeling at the belt. If we did not eat now we might go hungry till morning. We decided not to renounce the friendship of the two hundred and fifty pound crackerjack. Kelly was one of Nature’s enthusiasts, but he had understated concerning his cook, both in weight and proficiency. All of her three hundred odd pounds billowing and undulating in the bounds of a starched white apron waddled a testimonial to her skill. When Kelly delicately left us under her chaperonage she overflowed with joy. “Girls, you don’t know what a treat it is to see women-folks. I been here all winter, the only woman in camp, and I could die with homesickness.” We said something appreciative of the beauty of the scenery. She sniffed. “This? Say, girls, you ought to see God’s country!” “California?” we said intelligently. “You bet!” answered the Native Daughter. “I s’pose you’re headed that way?” “No,--” weakly,--“we thought we’d see Arizona first.” “Well, girls, it’s lucky you met _me_. Now I can lay out a trip for you through California that will knock Arizona silly. There’s the Yosemite,--and the Big Trees,--and the climate,--grandest scenery in the world,--and San Francisco. After you reach Needles, you get good roads all the way,--nothing like these. My! To think you’d ’a wasted your time in Arizona if I hadn’t met you.” “Yes, indeed. We can’t be grateful enough.” The truth, with a little ingenuity, always serves. At this point we were luckily called to supper, cooked early for our convenience. We sat between Mr. Kelly, who leaped lightly from ships to sealing wax, from cabbages to kings in a jovial torrent of brogue, and the engineer of the mine. The latter was an Englishman well past middle age, with a slight cockney accent, apparently self-educated but with the thoroughness only his type achieves. When he spoke in a hesitating, deprecating way, vastly unlike Mr. Kelly’s self-assured flood, he exhibited a vast range of information, correct, unlike Mr. Kelly’s again, to the last detail. His vague brown eyes, the iris blue-rimmed, cleared and shone with faith when in a matter-of-course way he suddenly spoke of the “spirit world,” which it seems was very near to him. Fifty, painfully ugly, shabby middle-class, learned, and on telepathic terms with ghosts, he piqued curiosity, as a man who seemed to have much behind and little before him.