mirror in the tree fork caught and held her with the sky, the green
leaves, the sunlight and all the graciousness of her surroundings, and
the wind gently tossed her hair and the gay ribbons of her gypsy hat.
Suddenly she started. Some remote sound in the trail below, inaudible
to any ear less fine than hers, arrested her breathing. She rose
swiftly and darted into cover.

Ten minutes passed. The sun was declining; the white fog was beginning
to creep over the Coast Range. From the edge of the wood Cinderella
appeared, disenchanted, and in her homespun garments. The clock had
struck--the spell was past. As she disappeared down the trail even the
magic mirror, moved by the wind, slipped from the tree-top to the
ground, and became a piece of common glass.


CHAPTER IV.

The events of the day had produced a remarkable impression on the
facial aspect of the charcoal-burning Fairley. Extraordinary processes
of thought, indicated by repeated rubbing of his forehead, had produced
a high light in the middle and a corresponding deepening of shadow at
the sides, until it bore the appearance of a perfect sphere. It was
this forehead that confronted Flip reproachfully as became a deceived
comrade, menacingly as became an outraged parent in the presence of a
third party and--a Postmaster.

"Fine doin's this, yer receivin' clandecent bundles and letters, eh?"
he began. Flip sent one swift, withering look of contempt at the
Postmaster, who at once becoming invertebrate and groveling, mumbled
that he must "get on" to the Crossing, and rose to go. But the old man,