facts. It is to laugh. Here is a climate that breeds vigour, with just
sufficient geniality to prevent the expenditure of most of that vigour in
fighting the elements. Here is a climate where a man can work three
hundred and sixty-five days in the year without the slightest hint of
enervation, and where for three hundred and sixty-five nights he must
perforce sleep under blankets. What more can one say? I consider myself
somewhat of climate expert, having adventured among most of the climates
of five out of the six zones. I have not yet been in the Antarctic, but
whatever climate obtains there will not deter me from drawing the
conclusion that nowhere is there a climate to compare with that of this
region. Maybe I am as wrong as Ingersoll was. Nevertheless I take my
medicine by continuing to live in this climate. Also, it is the only
medicine I ever take.

But to return to the horses. There is some improvement. Milda has
actually learned to walk. Maid has proved her thoroughbredness by never
tiring on the longest days, and, while being the strongest and highest
spirited of all, by never causing any trouble save for an occasional kick
at the Outlaw. And the Outlaw rarely gallops, no longer butts, only
periodically kicks, comes in to the pole and does her work without
attempting to vivisect Maid's medulla oblongata, and--marvel of
marvels--is really and truly getting lazy. But Prince remains the same
incorrigible, loving and lovable rogue he has always been.

And the country we've been over! The drives through Napa and Lake
Counties! One, from Sonoma Valley, via Santa Rosa, we could not refrain
from taking several ways, and on all the ways we found the roads
excellent for machines as well as horses. One route, and a more
delightful one for an automobile cannot be found, is out from Santa Rosa,
past old Altruria and Mark West Springs, then to the right and across to