through the interstices of leaf and spray he could see the blue void of
the canyon at his side, and he even fancied that the foliage ahead of
him was more symmetrical and less irregular, and was touched here and
there with faint bits of color. To complete his utter mystification,
a woman's voice, very fresh, very youthful, and by no means unmusical,
rose apparently from the circumambient air. He looked hurriedly to the
right and left, and even hopelessly into the trees above him.

"Yes," said the voice, as if renewing a suspended conversation, "it
was too funny for anything. There were the two Missouri girls from
Skinner's, with their auburn hair ringleted, my dear, like the old
'Books of Beauty'--in white frocks and sashes of an unripe greenish
yellow, that puckered up your mouth like persimmons. One of them was
speechless from good behavior, and the other--well! the other was
so energetic she called out the figures before the fiddler did, and
shrieked to my vis-a-vis to dance up to the entire stranger--meaning ME,
if you please."

The voice appeared to come from the foliage that overhung the canyon,
and the stranger even fancied he could detect through the shimmering
leafy veil something that moved monotonously to and fro. Mystified and
impatient, he made a hurried stride forward, his foot struck a wooden
step, and the next moment the mystery was made clear. He had almost
stumbled upon the end of a long veranda that projected over the abyss
before a low, modern dwelling, till then invisible, nestling on its
very brink. The symmetrically-trimmed foliage he had noticed were the
luxuriant Madeira vines that hid the rude pillars of the veranda; the
moving object was a rocking-chair, with its back towards the intruder,
that disclosed only the brown hair above, and the white skirts and small
slippered feet below, of a seated female figure. In the mean time, a