If it is a pleasant day the sun hurts her eyes, and if it is cloudy she
groans aloud and says "she can't see."

And no human bein' wuz ever known to suit her. She gets up early in the
mornin' and puts on her specs, and goes out (as it were) a-huntin' up
faults in folks. And she finds 'em, finds lots of 'em. And then she
spends the rest of the day a-drivin' 'em ahead of her, and groanin' at
'em.

You know this world bein' such a big place and so many different sort o'
things in it that you can generally find in it the perticuler sort of
game you set out to hunt in the mornin'.

If you set out to hunt beauty and goodness, if you take good aim and are
perseverin'--if you jest track 'em and foller 'em stiddy from mornin'
till night, and don't get led away a-follerin' up some other game,
such as meanness and selfishness and other such worthless head o'
cattle--why, at night you will come in with a sight of good game. You
will be a noble and happy hunter.

[Illustration: "BUT FIT WITH THEIR TONGUES, FEARFUL."]

At the same time, if you hunt all day for faults you will come in at
night with sights of pelts. You will find what you hunt for, track 'em
right along and chase 'em down. Wall, Lodema never got led away from
her perticuler chase. She just hunted faults from mornin' till night,
and done well at it. She brought in sights of skins.

But oh! wuzn't it disagreeable in the extreme to Samantha, who had