the fringes and overlappings of the sea. At high noon the shadow
of a seagull's wing, or a sudden flurry and gray squall of sand-
pipers, themselves but shadows, was all that broke the monotonous
glare of the level sands.

He had lived there alone for a twelvemonth. Although but a few
miles from a thriving settlement, during that time his retirement
had never been intruded upon, his seclusion remained unbroken. In
any other community he might have been the subject of rumor or
criticism, but the miners at Camp Rogue and the traders at Trinidad
Head, themselves individual and eccentric, were profoundly
indifferent to all other forms of eccentricity or heterodoxy that
did not come in contact with their own. And certainly there was no
form of eccentricity less aggressive than that of a hermit, had
they chosen to give him that appellation. But they did not even do
that, probably from lack of interest or perception. To the various
traders who supplied his small wants he was known as "Kernel,"
"Judge," and "Boss." To the general public "The Man on the Beach"
was considered a sufficiently distinguishing title. His name, his
occupation, rank, or antecedents, nobody cared to inquire. Whether
this arose from a fear of reciprocal inquiry and interest, or from
the profound indifference before referred to, I cannot say.

He did not look like a hermit. A man yet young, erect, well-
dressed, clean-shaven, with a low voice, and a smile half
melancholy, half cynical, was scarcely the conventional idea of a
solitary. His dwelling, a rude improvement on a fisherman's cabin,
had all the severe exterior simplicity of frontier architecture,
but within it was comfortable and wholesome. Three rooms--a
kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom--were all it contained.