depths were filled with shadows that disappeared as the sun came up
while I still lingered, spellbound, on the Rim.

On the long train journey I had read and re-read the _Grand Canyon
Information Booklet_, published by the National Park Service. I was
still unprepared for what lay before me in carrying out my rôle as field
clerk there. So very, very many pages of that booklet have never been
written--pages replete with dangers and hardships, loneliness and
privations, sacrifice and service, all sweetened with friendships not
found in heartless, hurrying cities, lightened with loyalty and love,
and tinted with glamour and romance. And over it all lies a fascination
a stranger without the gates can never share.

I was the first woman ever placed in field service at the Grand Canyon,
and the Superintendent was not completely overjoyed at my arrival. To be
fair, I suppose he expected me to be a clinging-vine nuisance, although
I assured him I was well able to take care of myself. Time softens most
of life's harsh memories, and I've learned to see his side of the
question. What was he to do with a girl among scores of road builders
and rangers? When I tell part of my experiences with him, I do so only
because he has long been out of the Service and I can now see the
humorous aspect of our private feud.

As the sun rose higher over the Canyon, I reluctantly turned away and
went to report my arrival to the Superintendent. He was a towering,
gloomy giant of a man, and I rather timidly presented my assignment. He
looked down from his superior height, eyed me severely, and spoke
gruffly.

"I suppose you know you were thrust upon me!"