saucily as we passed along, and we were all children together. We
forgot all about feuds and partings, death and hard times. All we
remembered was that God is good and the world is wide and beautiful. We
plodded along all day. Next morning there was a blue haze that Zebbie
said meant there would be a high wind, so we hurried to reach his home
that evening.

The sun was hanging like a great red ball in the smoky haze when we
entered the long cañon in which is Zebbie's cabin. Already it was dusky
in the cañons below, but not a breath of air stirred. A more delighted
man than Zebbie I never saw when we finally drove up to his low,
comfortable cabin. Smoke was slowly rising from the chimney, and
Gavotte, the man in charge, rushed out and the hounds set up a joyful
barking. Gavotte is a Frenchman, and he was all smiles and
gesticulations as he said, "Welcome, welcome! To-day I am rejoice you
have come. Yesterday I am despair if you have come because I am scrub,
but to-day, behold, I am delight."

I have heard of clean people, but Gavotte is the cleanest man I ever
saw. The cabin floor was so white I hated to step upon it. The windows
shone, and at each there was a calico curtain, blue-and-white check,
unironed but newly washed. In one window was an old brown pitcher,
cracked and nicked, filled with thistles. I never thought them pretty
before, but the pearly pink and the silvery green were so pretty and
looked so clean that they had a new beauty. Above the fireplace was a
great black eagle which Gavotte had killed, the wings outspread and a
bunch of arrows in the claws. In one corner near the fire was a
washstand, and behind it hung the fishing-tackle. Above one door was a
gun-rack, on which lay the rifle and shotgun, and over the other door
was a pair of deer-antlers. In the center of the room stood the square