had planted and watered and pruned. In the blaze of the
open plain she was stupid and blind like an owl. Shade,
shade; that was what she was always planning and making.
Behind the high tamarisk hedge, her garden was a jungle
of verdure in summer. Above the cherry trees and peach
trees and golden plums stood the windmill, with its tank
on stilts, which kept all this verdure alive. Outside, the
sage-brush grew up to the very edge of the garden, and the
sand was always drifting up to the tamarisks.

Every one in Moonstone was astonished when the
Kohlers took the wandering music-teacher to live with
them. In seventeen years old Fritz had never had a crony,
except the harness-maker and Spanish Johnny. This
Wunsch came from God knew where,--followed Spanish
Johnny into town when that wanderer came back from one

of his tramps. Wunsch played in the dance orchestra,
tuned pianos, and gave lessons. When Mrs. Kohler rescued
him, he was sleeping in a dirty, unfurnished room over one
of the saloons, and he had only two shirts in the world.
Once he was under her roof, the old woman went at him as
she did at her garden. She sewed and washed and mended
for him, and made him so clean and respectable that he was
able to get a large class of pupils and to rent a piano. As
soon as he had money ahead, he sent to the Narrow Gauge
lodging-house, in Denver, for a trunkful of music which
had been held there for unpaid board. With tears in his