VII.

A BOY'S OUTING


There was joy in the heart, luncheon in the knapsack, and a sparkle in
the eye of each of us as we set forth on our exploring expedition, all
of a sunny Saturday. Outside of California there never were such
Saturdays as those. We were perfectly sure for eight months in the year
that it wouldn't rain a drop; and as for the other four months--well,
perhaps it wouldn't. It is true that Longfellow had sung, even in those
days:

Unto each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Our days were not dark or dreary,--indeed, they could not possibly be in
the two-thirds-of-the-year-dry season. It did not rain so very much even
in the rainy season, when it had a perfect right to; therefore there was
joy in the heart and no umbrella anywhere about when we prepared to set
forth on our day of discovery.

We began our adventure at Meigg's Wharf. We didn't go out to the end of
it, because there was nothing but crabs there, being hauled up at
frequent intervals by industrious crabbers, whose nets fairly fringed
the wharf. They lay on their backs by scores and hundreds, and waved