exertions；　until；　quite　at　the　summit　of　the　hill　and　last　of　a
  straggling　line　of　little　cottages　half　submerged　in　drifting　sand；
  he　stood　upon　his　own　humble　porch。
  〃I　was　thinking；　coming　up　the　hill；　Loo；〃　he　said；　bursting　into
  the　sitting…room；　pantingly；　〃of　writing　something　about　the　future
  of　the　hill！　　How　it　will　look　fifty　years　from　now；　all　terraced
  with　houses　and　gardens！and　right　up　here　a　kind　of　Acropolis；
  don't　you　know。　　I　had　quite　a　picture　of　it　in　my　mind　just　now。〃
  A　plainly…dressed　young　woman　with　a　pretty　face；　that；　however；
  looked　as　if　it　had　been　prematurely　sapped　of　color　and　vitality；
  here　laid　aside　some　white　sewing　she　had　in　her　lap；　and　said：
  〃But　you　did　that　once　before；　Milty；　and　you　know　the　〃Herald〃
  wouldn't　take　it　because　they　said　it　was　a　free　notice　of　Mr。
  Boorem's　building　lots；　and　he　didn't　advertise　in　the　〃Herald。〃　　I
  always　told　you　that　you　ought　to　have　seen　Boorem　first。〃
  The　young　fellow　blinked　his　eyes　with　a　momentary　arrest　of　that
  buoyant　hopefulness　which　was　their　peculiar　characteristic；　but
  nevertheless　replied　with　undaunted　cheerfulness；　〃I　forgot。
  Anyhow；　it's　all　the　same；　for　I　worked　it　into　that　'Sunday　Walk。'
  And　it's　just　as　easy　to　write　it　the　other　way；　you　see；looking
  back；　DOWN　THE　HILL；　you　know。　　Something　about　the　old　Padres
  toiling　through　the　sand　just　before　the　Angelus；　or　as　far　back　as
  Sir　Francis　Drake's　time；　and　have　a　runaway　boat's　crew；　coming
  ashore　to　look　for　gold　that　the　Mexicans　had　talked　of。　　Lord！
  that's　easy　enough！　　I　tell　you　what；　Loo；　it's　worth　living　up
  here　just　for　the　inspiration。〃　　Even　while　boyishly　exhaling　this
  enthusiasm　he　was　also　divesting　himself　of　certain　bundles　whose
  contents　seemed　to　imply　that　he　had　brought　his　dinner　with　him；
  the　youthful　Mrs。　Harcourt　setting　the　table　in　a　perfunctory；
  listless　way　that　contrasted　oddly　with　her　husband's　cheerful
  energy。
  〃You　haven't　heard　of　any　regular　situation　yet？〃　she　asked
  abstractedly。
  〃No；not　exactly；〃　he　replied。　　〃But　＇buoyantly＇　it's　a　great　deal
  better　for　me　not　to　take　anything　in　a　hurry　and　tie　myself　to　any
  particular　line。　　Now；　I'm　quite　free。〃
  〃And　I　suppose　you　haven't　seen　that　Mr。　Fletcher　again？〃　she
  continued。
  〃No。　　He　only　wanted　to　know　something　about　me。　　That's　the　way
  with　them　all；　Loo。　　Whenever　I　apply　for　work　anywhere　it's
  always：　'So　you're　Dan'l　Harcourt's　son；　eh？　　Quarreled　with　the
  old　man？　　Bad　job；　better　make　it　up！　　You'll　make　more　stickin'　to
  him。　　He's　worth　millions！'　　Everybody　seems　to　think　everything　of
  HIM；　as　if　I　had　no　individuality　beyond　that；　I've　a　good　mind　to
  change　my　name。〃
  〃And　pray　what　would　mine　be　then？〃
  There　was　so　much　irritation　in　her　voice　that　he　drew　nearer　her
  and　gently　put　his　arm　around　her　waist。　　〃Why；　whatever　mine　was；
  darling；〃　he　said　with　a　tender　smile。　　〃You　didn't　fall　in　love
  with　any　particular　name；　did　you；　Loo？〃
  〃No；　but　I　married　a　particular　one；〃　she　said　quickly。
  His　eyelids　quivered　again；　as　if　he　was　avoiding　some　unpleasantly
  staring　suggestion；　and　she　stopped。
  〃You　know　what　I　mean；　dear；〃　she　said；　with　a　quick　little　laugh。
  〃Just　because　your　father's　an　old　crosspatch；　YOU　haven't　lost
  your　rights　to　his　name　and　property。　　And　those　people　who　say　you
  ought　to　make　it　up　perhaps　know　what's　for　the　best。〃
  〃But　you　remember　what　he　said　of　you；　Loo？〃　said　the　young　man
  with　a　flashing　eye。　　〃Do　you　think　I　can　ever　forget　that？〃
  〃But　you　DO　forget　it；　dear；　you　forget　it　when　you　go　in　town
  among　fresh　faces　and　people；　when　you　are　looking　for　work。　　You
  forget　it　when　you're　at　work　writing　your　copy；for　I've　seen　you
  smile　as　you　wrote。　　You　forget　it　climbing　up　the　dreadful　sand；
  for　you　were　thinking　just　now　of　what　happened　years　ago；　or　is　to
  happen　years　to　come。　　And　I　want　to　forget　it　too；　Milty。　　I　don't
  want　to　sit　here　all　day；　thinking　of　it；　with　the　wind　driving　the
  sand　against　the　window；　and　nothing　to　look　at　but　those　white
  tombs　in　Lone　Mountain　Cemetery；　and　those　white　caps　that　might　be
  gravestones　too；　and　not　a　soul　to　talk　to　or　even　see　pass　by
  until　I　feel　as　if　I　were　dead　and　buried　also。　　If　you　were　me
  youyouyoucouldn't　help　crying　too！〃
  Indeed　he　was　very　near　it　now。　　For　as　he　caught　her　in　his　arms；
  suddenly　seeing　with　a　lover's　sympathy　and　the　poet's　swifter
  imagination　all　that　she　had　seen　and　even　more；　he　was　aghast　at
  the　vision　conjured。　　In　her　delicate　health　and　loneliness　how
  dreadful　must　have　been　these　monotonous　days；　and　this　glittering；
  cruel　sea！　　What　a　selfish　brute　he　was！　　Yet　as　he　stood　there
  holding　her；　silently　and　rhythmically　marking　his　tenderness　and
  remorseful　feelings　by　rocking　her　from　side　to　side　like　a　languid
  metronome；　she　quietly　disengaged　her　wet　lashes　from　his　shoulder
  and　said　in　quite　another　tone：
  〃So　they　were　all　at　Tasajara　last　week？〃
  〃Who；　dear？〃
  〃Your　father　and　sisters。〃
  〃Yes；〃　said　John　Milton；　hesitatingly。
  〃And　they've　taken　back　your　sister　after　her　divorce？〃
  The　staring　obtrusiveness　of　this　fact　apparently　made　her
  husband's　bright　sympathetic　eye　blink　as　before。
  〃And　if　you　were　to　divorce　me；　YOU　would　be　taken　back　too；〃　she
  added　quickly；　suddenly　withdrawing　herself　with　a　pettish　movement
  and　walking　to　the　window。
  But　he　followed。　　〃Don't　talk　in　that　way；　Loo！　　Don't　look　in　that
  way；　dear！〃　he　said；　taking　her　hand　gently；　yet　not　without　a
  sense　of　some　inconsistency　in　her　conduct　that　jarred　upon　his　own
  simple　directness。　　〃You　know　that　nothing　can　part　us　now。　　I　was
  wrong　to　let　my　little　girl　worry　herself　all　alone　here；　but　II
  thought　it　was　all　soso　bright　and　free　out　on　this　hill；
  looking　far　away　beyond　the　Golden　Gate；as　far　as　Cathay；　you
  know；　and　such　a　change　from　those　dismal　flats　of　Tasajara　and
  that　awful　stretch　of　tules。　　But　it's　all　right　now。　　And　now　that
  I　know　how　you　feel；　we'll　go　elsewhere。〃
  She　did　not　reply。　　Perhaps　she　found　it　difficult　to　keep　up　her
  injured　attitude　in　the　face　of　her　husband's　gentleness。　　Perhaps
  her　attention　had　been　attracted　by　the　unusual　spectacle　of　a
  stranger；　who　had　just　mounted　the　hill　and　was　now　slowly　passing
  along　the　line　of　cottages　with　a　hesitating　air　of　inquiry。　　〃He
  may　be　looking　for　this　house；for　you；〃　she　said　in　an　entirely
  new　tone　of　interest。　　〃Run　out　and　see。　　It　may　be　some　one　who
  wants〃
  〃An　article；〃　said　Milton　cheerfully。　　〃By　Jove！　he　IS　coming
  here。〃
  The　stranger　was　indeed　approaching　the　little　cottage；　and　with
  apparently　some　confidence。　　He　was　a　well…dressed；　well…made　man；
  whose　age　looked　uncertain　from　the　contrast　between　his　heavy
  brown　moustache　and　his　hair；　that；　curling　under　the　brim　of　his
  hat；　was　almost　white　in　color。　　The　young　man　started；　and　said；
  hurriedly：　〃I　really　believe　it　is　Fletcher；they　say　his　hair
  turned　white　from　the　Panama　fever。〃
  It　was　indeed　Mr。　Fletcher　who　entered　and　introduced　himself；
  a　gentle　reserved　man；　with　something　of　that　colorlessness　of
  premature　age　in　his　speech　which　was　observable　in　his　hair。　　He
  had　heard　of　Mr。　Harcourt　from　a　friend　who　had　recommended　him
  highly。　　As　Mr。　Harcourt　had　probably　been　told；　he；　the　speaker；
  was　about　to　embark　some　capital　in　a　first…class　newspaper　in　San
  Francisco；　and　should　select　the　staff　himself。　　He　wanted　to
  secure　only　first…rate　talent；but　above　all；　youthfulness；
  directness；　and　originality。　　The　〃Clarion；〃　for　that　was　to　be
  its　name；　was　to　have　nothing　〃old　fogy〃　about　it。　　No。　　It　was
  distinctly　to　be　the　organ　of　Young　California！　　This　and　much　more
  from　the　grave　lips　of　the　elderly　young　man；　whose　speech　seemed
  to　be　divided　between　the　pretty；　but　equally　faded；　young　wife；
  and　the　one　personification　of　invincible　youth　present；her
  husband。
  〃But　I　fear　I　have　interrupted　your　household　duties；〃　he　said
  pleasantly。　　〃You　were　preparing　dinner。　　Pray　go　on。　　And　let　me
  help　you；I'm　not　a　bad　cook；and　you　can　give　me　my　reward　by
  letting　me　share　it　with　you；　for　the　climb　up　here　has　sharpened
  my　appetite。　　We　can　talk　as　we　go　on。〃
  It　was　in　vain　to　protest；　there　was　something　paternal　as　well　as
  practical　in　the　camaraderie　of　this　actual　capitalist　and　possible
  Maecenas　and　patron　as　he　quietly　hung　up　his　hat　and　overcoat；　and
  helped　to　set　the　table　with　a　practiced　hand。　　Nor；　as　he
  suggested；　did　the　conversation　falter；　and　before　they　had　taken
  their　seats　at　the　frugal　board　he　had　already　engaged　John　Milton
  Harcourt　as　assistant　editor　of　the　〃Clarion〃　at　a　salary　that
  seemed　princely　to　this　son　of　a　millionaire！　　The　young　wife
  meantime　had　taken　active　part　in　the　discussion；　whether　it　was
  vaguely　understood　that　the　possession　of　poetical　and　imaginative
  fa