himself of this admirable opportunity, nor did it appear at all likely
that any would, everybody vaguely felt that an inestimable boon lay
in the suggestion, and even the master professionally intrusting the
reading aloud of the editorial to Rupert Filgee with ulterior designs
of practice in the pronunciation of five-syllable words, was somewhat
affected by it. Johnny Filgee and Jimmy Snyder accepting it as a
mysterious something that made Desert Islands accessible at a moment's
notice and a trifling outlay, were round-eyed and attentive. And
the culminating information from the master that this event would
be commemorated by a half-holiday, combined to make the occasion as
exciting to the simple school-house in the clearing as it was to the
gilded saloon in the main street.

And so the momentous day arrived, with its two new coaches from Big
Bluff containing the specially invited speakers--always specially
invited to those occasions, and yet strangely enough never before
feeling the extreme "importance and privilege" of it as they did then.
Then there were the firing of two anvils, the strains of a brass band,
the hoisting of a new flag on the liberty-pole, and later the
ceremony of the Ditch opening, when a distinguished speaker in a most
unworkman-like tall hat, black frock coat, and white cravat, which gave
him the general air of a festive grave-digger, took a spade from the
hands of an apparently hilarious chief mourner and threw out the first
sods. There were anvils, brass bands, and a "collation" at the hotel.
But everywhere--overriding the most extravagant expectation and even
the laughter it provoked--the spirit of indomitable youth and resistless
enterprise intoxicated the air. It was the spirit that had made
California possible; that had sown a thousand such ventures
broadcast through its wilderness; that had enabled the sower to stand
half-humorously among his scant or ruined harvests without fear and