The man paused and nodded.

"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half
apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather."

"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed.

"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin'
for it neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know
where she lives. Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson."

"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright
with interest, "about whom we've heard so much?"

"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff
Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her."

"You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the foot-
path." Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a
quarter of a mile. "You see that blasted redwood? Take the little
trail turning off to the right. It's the short cut to her house.
You can't miss it."

"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. He made tentative efforts to
go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. He was gazing at her
with an open admiration of which he was quite unconscious, and
which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of
embarrassment in which he floundered.