and the birds and beasts in their rude encampments. He had given up the
brotherhood of the miner, and that practical help and sympathy which
brought no degradation with it, for this rude shock of self-interested,
self-satisfied civilization. He, who would not have shrunk from asking
rest, food, or a night's lodging at the cabin of a brother miner or
woodsman, now recoiled suddenly from these well-dressed citizens. What
madness had sent him here, an intruder, or, even, as it seemed to him in
his dripping clothes, an impostor? And yet these were the people to whom
he had confidently expected to tell his story, and who would cheerfully
assist him with work! He could almost anticipate the hard laugh or
brutal hurried negative in their faces. In his foolish heart he thanked
God he had not tried it. Then the apathetic recoil which is apt to
follow any keen emotion overtook him. He was dazedly conscious of being
rudely shoved once or twice, and even heard the epithet "drunken lout"
from one who had run against him.

He found himself presently staring vacantly in the apothecary's window.
How long he stood there he could not tell, for he was aroused only by
the door opening in front of him, and a young girl emerging with some
purchase in her hand. He could see that she was handsomely dressed and
quite pretty, and as she passed out she lifted to his withdrawing figure
a pair of calm, inquiring eyes, which, however, changed to a look of
half-wondering, half-amused pity as she gazed. Yet that look of pity
stung his pride more deeply than all. With a deliberate effort he
recovered his energy. No, he would not beg, he would not ask assistance
from these people; he would go back--anywhere! To the steamboat first;
they might let him sleep there, give him a meal, and allow him to work
his passage back to Stockton. He might be refused. Well, what then?
Well, beyond, there was the bay! He laughed bitterly--his mind was sane
enough for that--but he kept on repeating it vaguely to himself, as he