Bob Hampton of Placer

"What is it?" she anxiously questioned.

"The hydraulic," whispered the other. "There 's a big lake up in the

hills, and they 've piped the water down here. It 's got a force like

a cannon, and that fellow--I don't know whether it is Herndon or

not--is screwing on the hose connection. I bet your Mr. Moffat gets a

shock!"

"It's a perfect shame, an outrage! I 'm going to tell him."

Naida caught her sleeve firmly, her eyes full of laughter. "Oh, please

don't, Miss Spencer. It will be such fun. Let's see where it hits

him!"

For one single instant the lady yielded, and in it all opportunity for

warning fled. There was a sharp sizzling, which caused Moffat to

suspend his serenade; then something struck him,--it must have been

fairly in the middle, for he shut up like a jack-knife, and went

crashing backwards with an agonized howl. There was a gleam of shining

water, something black squirming among the weeds, a yell, a volley of

half-choked profanity, and a fleeing figure, apparently pursued by a

huge snake. Naida shook with laughter, clinging with both hands to the

sill, but Miss Spencer was plainly shocked.

"Oh, did you hear what--what he said?" she asked. "Was n't it awful?"

The younger nodded, unable as yet to command her voice. "I--I don't

believe he is an Episcopalian; do you?"

"I don't know. I imagine that might have made even a Methodist swear."

The puckers began to show about the disapproving mouth, under the

contagion of the other's merriment. "Wasn't it perfectly ridiculous?

But he did play beautifully, and it was so very nice of him to come my

first night here. Do you suppose that was Mr. Herndon?"

Naida shook her head doubtfully. "He looked taller, but I could n't

really tell. He 's gone now, and the water is turned off."

They lit the lamp once more, discussing the scene just witnessed, while

Miss Spencer, standing before the narrow mirror, prepared her hair for

the night. Suddenly some object struck the lowered window shade and

dropped upon the floor. Naida picked it up.

"A letter," she announced, "for Miss Phoebe Spencer."

"For me? What can it be? Why, Naida, it is poetry! Listen: Sweetest flower from off the Eastern hills,

So lily-like and fair;

Your very presence stirs and thrills

Our buoyant Western air;

The plains grow lovelier in their span,

The skies above more blue,

While the heart of Nature and of man

Beats quick response for you.