UNI 
 
 Accessio 
 
 BANCROFT 
 LIBRARY 
 
 o- 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
A CHANGE 
 WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 DR 
 
 AK EPISODE OF CASTLE CRAGS 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 DUNCAN GUMMING 
 
 DUNSMUIR, CAL. 
 
 THE DUNSMUIR PUBLISHING CO. 
 1897 
 
i \^ <^-^v-v^^vvxAJv<UQ-^ V *~t"* C 
 
 A CHANGE 
 WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 DUNCAN GUMMING 
 
 r 
 
 DUNSMUIB, CAL. 
 
 THE DUNSMUIR PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 1897 
 
F85 
 
 Copyright. 1897 
 By G. D. CUMMINGS 
 All rights reserved 
 

 A CHANQE WITH THE 5EA50NS 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 [HE regular Oregon-bound express train had 
 just pulled into the little station of Castle 
 Crags as the morning sun was peeping 
 over the eastern hills, between the boughs 
 of the tall pine trees and casting its mel- 
 low light on the rippling waters of the 
 clear sparkling Sacramento river, which 
 was humming a sweet tune to the delicate 
 ferns of its banks as it bounded on towards 
 the Balboa sea. 
 
 The usual bevy of young city belles had 
 strolled down to the station to meet the 
 train, and see what it might have this 
 morning to add to their contingent of youth and 
 beauty. They were part of San Francisco's fash- 
 ionable set who spend their summers in the 
 
6 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 mountains, or at the watering places by the sea- 
 shore; and the Tavern of Castle Crags, where they 
 are now stopping, is one of the most fashionable 
 resorts in California. The notable attracts ns are 
 the wooded glens, mountain crags, mineral springs 
 and crystal streams. The gray granite peaks of 
 Castle Crags and the distant view of Mount Shasta 
 are always attractions to draw the tourist from 
 afar, and the pretty girls who congregated there 
 when this story opened would draw anything that 
 wasn't fossilized. 
 
 The usual crowd of idlers, stragglers, rail- 
 roaders, sawmillers, woodchoppers, etc., were also 
 loitering around the little quaint station-house, to 
 see what was going on; and, standing apart from 
 the throng were two listless young men, of a 
 strikingly high stamp of culture, gazing carelessly 
 at the stir, bustle and life which the dusty train 
 had created, and not apparently caring who ar- 
 rived, departed or stayed. 
 
 A gentleman and lady were seen to descend the 
 steps of one of the Pullman coaches, brush by the 
 two loitering young men, glide through the bevy 
 of pretty girls from the metropolis, idlers, etc., 
 etc., and mount the tavern carriage the damsels 
 opened their pretty eyes in wonderment; the mill- 
 men brushed the sawdust from their hair; the 
 railroaders gave their accustomed stare; and one 
 of the listless young men (the youngest and least 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 7 
 
 "strikingly" of the pair) exclaimed "well! Ben, 
 did you ever see such a stunner as that ?" 
 
 Ben stood for fully two minutes, lost in thought 
 apparently watching the sunbeams dance upon 
 the jagged peaks of Castle Crags till finally his 
 thoughts found expression in the inquiry: "Such 
 a stunner as what?" 
 
 "That apparition who just floated down from 
 the train." 
 
 "Did I? well never yes! I must have 
 known her Ihose eyes! When have T looked in 
 them before? Am I dreaming? or is this the 
 woman of my fancy ?" 
 
 "She must have stunned you, sure enough," 
 broke in his companion, dryly. 
 
 "Pardon me ! She reminded me of some one I 
 have known of herself, perhaps for I have 
 never met anyone like her before," he murmured. 
 
 "Or no one else has." 
 
 "I believe that is my affinity. Do you know 
 that I some times believe there is a hidden truth 
 in the teachings of Buddhism, and that a person 
 mav meet with spirits whom they have known in 
 some other existence? That idea was never so 
 strongly impressed on me as at this very moment, 
 and I believe that this woman must have been 
 associated with me at some indeffinate time in the 
 mysterious past." 
 
 "Nonsense! I never heard you talk so before." 
 
8 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 "I have never felt so before, and I have out- 
 lived the love affairs of yonth but that woman 
 one glimpse of her!" he continued, partly talking 
 to himself. "I must have known her. It may 
 have been in my dreams, or in some other world." 
 
 "What a ridiculous idea." 
 
 "It ia not ridiculous at all, if it is so, and it has 
 as much in its favor as any other view we have of 
 the unknown." 
 
 "I have become smitten with this 'mysterious' 
 attraction myself," remarked his companion, "but 
 I never remember having any associations, or 
 liaisons on anyother sphere with her." 
 
 "Who said that I was smitten ?" reiterated the 
 speaker addressed as Ben; feeling piqued at the 
 light remarks of his companion, over a sentiment 
 which had so unexpectedly taken such a firm hold 
 of him. For the brief glance of the lovely wo- 
 man had awakened long, slumbering emotions, 
 which really had never before resolved themselves 
 into definite forms. Her eyes had just met his 
 for a moment, but in that moment he was attract- 
 ed as though with the love of the infinite. "This 
 thing may sound foolish to you," he continued, 
 but I have been similarly impressed several times 
 before by the opposite sex when I met them for 
 the first time, though not so forcibly and they 
 went their way and I went mine and still they 
 are the people who I would like to live with 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 9 
 
 through all time." 
 
 "That's moonshine, Ben, pure and simple." 
 
 "There is probably a something that we know 
 not of in our lighter hours, and being as you are 
 always light (lightweight) it was not supposed 
 that you should understand a sentiment so deep 
 and unfathomable, therefore I was partly address- 
 ing myself to the sympathetic peaks!" he mutter- 
 ed, hardly audible, as his gaze wandered back to 
 the mountain. 
 
 "Perhaps you have known her before Ben," 
 broke in the younger man after a short pause. 
 
 "I am pretty certain that we have never met 
 before in this life; but then it seems that I have 
 known her she gave me a glance of recognition 
 w r hich is sometimes exchanged between kindred 
 souls." 
 
 "Those are some of the fancies of your poetic 
 imagination." 
 
 "This is no passing fancy, I assure you. I will 
 never forget this meeting by chance see what an 
 attraction she is creating as she rides through the 
 passing throng ? How she lays her head back on 
 her pretty neck ?" he continued, in an admiring 
 mood. "As though she longed to rest it on some 
 one's breast. Look at the way that beautiful 
 dark-brown hair clusters around her ears, defy- 
 ing the breeze clinging in an embrace which de- 
 notes love and refinement! I am always falling 
 
10 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 in love with a pretty bead of hair." 
 
 "I believe you are falling in love with every- 
 thing in sight to-day. You seemed to be about 
 as badly enamored with Miss Hortense this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "That is strange. Well, the only women I have 
 ever loved in my life were those I loved at first 
 sight." He replied gravely, and he seemed to 
 realize that those two loves of to-day would be 
 with him for life. And, as the 'buss wound to- 
 wards the tavern with its precious load of freight, 
 he relapsed into silence, and turned his eyes again 
 towards the gray rocks of the Crags. 
 
 "I wonder who her male escort can be?" re- 
 marked his young friend, badly smitten with the 
 fair traveler too. "He must surely be her father," 
 he mused. "Such a beautiful creature as that 
 cannot possibly be married to a man over fifty 
 and she not out of her teens, if I'm a judge. I 
 have never met either in society in San Francisco, 
 or at Burlingame or Del Monte. But whoever 
 she is 1 will make a raid on her affections before 
 she leaves the tavern, or we will know why. My 
 friend here thinks he has a mash, but he is too ro- 
 mantic, aren't you ?" twitting his companion in a 
 mischievous manner. 
 
 "For one taste of her rosy lips 
 And a glance of her winsome eye." 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 11 
 
 Sang the other in reply. 
 
 "Her escort is a regular old Arachnoidea too, 
 Don't you think so, Ben ? It wouldn't surprise 
 me a bit to see him weaving webs from tree to 
 tree." 
 
 "Well, he had better not weave any webs 
 around me." 
 
 "Or me either. But I am beginning to think 
 he has a web woven around that young girl." 
 
 "Well, lets go and brush away the web. 
 
 "Yes, and we will tangle him in his own woof." 
 
 The last speaker, whose name is Cloyd Landers, 
 is a scion of one of San Francisco's wealthy 
 families, who is sojourning at this pleasant 
 mountain resort for a few months to see what he 
 can get out of country life, and, as his parents 
 hope, where he will be removed from the tempta- 
 tions of gin and other forms of city vice. He is 
 a good natured young man, and, like many of his 
 class, puts wine and woman ahead of all earthly 
 enjoyments. 
 
 His companion, Ben Bynington, is living in the 
 mountains at present because he is not particularly 
 living anywhere else. 
 
 He is a bohemian from bohemianville, and not 
 one of the fashionable set, or part of the four 
 hundred, although he is associating with them to 
 some extent at the time this narrative opens. A 
 large-sized, good-looking man, descended from a 
 
12 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 hardy stock, with a pleasant face, a little marred 
 by care and dissipation; but still youthful, and 
 the eyes are bright with that tender luster so few 
 possess. 
 
 He is considerably older than his companion 
 and different in every way; but they have some- 
 how taken a great liking for each other, and the 
 young sapling has recognized the superiority of 
 his associate, while they both have a natural 
 weakness for the opposite sex. Not that they are 
 particularly bad in this line, but neither of them 
 could resist any love affair which presented itself in 
 their environment, and Landers considers himself 
 a real breaker of hearts. 
 
 Bynington has very peculiar ideas on this sub- 
 ject also. He has not the reverence for chastity 
 and spotless reputations that some matrons and 
 good religious people have (a fault which I am 
 very sorry to find in my hero, but I have no 
 power to change his ideas). 
 
 In viewing a female from this particular stand- 
 point, he just simply does not care for, nor 
 respect her because she is living an immaculate 
 life he only pities her. He believes that wo- 
 men should have the same rights as men, and 
 practices what he preaches. 
 
 Not that he is a great rake himself, but he be- 
 lieves in love, and thinks it is morally right to 
 partake of its fruits while young, because, if when 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 13 
 
 one grows old be has missed the enjoyment in the 
 only life he is sure of living, he has suffered an 
 irreparable loss. 
 
 This man is not an ignoramus. He has held 
 responsible positions on the editorial staff of some 
 of the foremost daily papers in the United States, 
 has played successful parts on the histrionic stage, 
 and has written some very good poetry, and 
 dabbled in literature generally. 
 
 Besides this he has been an extensive traveler; 
 knows all about the world and its inhabitants; a 
 lover of women and books; and a truly warm- 
 hearted, interesting individual to those few whom 
 he chooses as his friends. 
 
 His ideal character in history seems to be about 
 one of Byron's creations: 
 
 "He loved the muses and the sex; 
 And sometimes these so fro ward are, 
 They made him wish himself at war, 
 But soon his wrath being o'er, he took 
 Another mistress, or new book." 
 
 Not that he is having any such a glorious time 
 himself, but he considers that old king the hap- 
 piest man on earth. 
 
 He is a person who appears to be frank and 
 open, and while he finds out all about your busi- 
 IH ss, without directly questioning you either, you 
 have succeeded in learning very little about him, 
 
 2 
 
14 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 or his affairs. In fact the people who associated 
 with him for several months had not the slightest 
 idea what his calling was, while he knew their 
 history for several generations. 
 
 His age is anywhere between thirty and thirty- 
 five, and although he has dipped into numerous 
 dissipations he still looks young and has boyish 
 ways. 
 
 A character rather out of the commonplace, 
 indeed. 
 
 His reasons for being found dallying around a 
 summer resort, "mashing" sundry dames, in place 
 of following his vocation in the city along with 
 other Bohemians, are well known to himself, if 
 not to the people with whom he is associating. 
 He has found that his constitution is so shattered 
 that he can live more at ease out on the plains or 
 jn the mountains than anywhere else. Though 
 he is aware of this himself it has not been reveal- 
 ed to others, and by his looks they would never 
 suspect it. He has learned to preside over his 
 own physique and is trying to discover how to 
 control his own destiny. 
 
 When one comes to study his character closely 
 he learns that it is a contradiction. He is a pecul- 
 iar individual who may be considered soft and 
 hard; and a number of Shylocks, who tried to 
 impose upon his implicit credulity at different 
 times, came out grievously disappointed. Though* 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 15 
 
 with all his genius and knowledge of the world, 
 he is still poor. This may be partly accounted 
 for, because he is always a victim to the adversity 
 of chance, and partly because he would rather 
 follow the object of his fancy than to glean where 
 his financial interests lie. In fact he cares nothing 
 about money so long as he has enough to pay 
 expenses, and his talents can always be relied 
 upon to produce enough for that. 
 
 I called him a genius. That he is endowed 
 with this divine gift has been demonstrated quite 
 unexpectedly at different times, though very often 
 indolent, and some times considered real stupid. 
 It was during the latter intervals that the sharks 
 were so badly taken in when they thought they 
 had a piece of live matter to be used to their 
 advantage. 
 
 He is the same contradiction in his makeup; 
 generally careless about his personal appearance 
 and toilet, though sensitive and proud to a degree 
 scarcely comprehensible to the everyday mortal 
 with whom he comes in contact, and never rightly 
 understood. 
 
 So he and his young "Pacifiecoastbred" com- 
 panion, whose character has developed nothing 
 yet worthy a description (though it may develop 
 a great deal if he does not soon learn to curtail 
 his indulgence in wine and woman), sauntered 
 
16 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 over to the tavern and glanced at the register: 
 
 JOSEPH AREGAVE AND WIFE, 
 
 SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.' 
 
 "Do your ej'es behold that, Bynington?" mur- 
 mured young Landers, as he tried to push the 
 name through the heavy sheet of the register with 
 his fingers. "Go and throw your unfortunate 
 remnants in the Sacramento river and be done 
 with earth forever. 
 
 "I know you are worse stricken with that lavish 
 looking piece of female loveliness than I am," he 
 continued. "And here, before we get a second 
 glimpse of her angelic form and roguish eyes we 
 find her registered as the wife of an ugly old man. 
 Pshaw!" he cried, with apparent contemptuous 
 disapprobation, withdrawing his hand from the 
 book. "Go off and die!" 
 
 "You seem to be the only one disappointed in 
 the matter," replied the other, calmly. 
 
 "Oh, I am not disappointed ! There is a 
 chance that I may be able to amuse the lady while 
 the old man is absent, but you will be barred 
 from basldng in the sunshine of her beauty by all 
 events. I foresee your doom!" 
 
 "Well, I am not discussing the subject. Like 
 Byron, I have said nothing, and said it grace fu ly; 
 but you seem to talk about strange persons rather 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 17 
 
 disgracefully," and (be continued in an under- 
 tone) "those ladies have overheard your remarks 
 and are shocked." 
 
 "A conception wouldn't shock them," the young 
 man replied, and whistled himself over to the 
 clubhouse to order some liquid refreshments on 
 
 ice. 
 
 The other made no signs of being further dis- 
 turbed by his late affair of the heart and the un- 
 favorable turn it had taken. He had given vent 
 to his feelings when first seeing the female de- 
 scend like a meteor from the train, but now he 
 was as uncommunicative as the hotel's big safe, 
 and stalked as bruskly by a coterie of pretty 
 young damsels, who were flooding the office with 
 their morning charms, as if they did not exist. 
 
 One of them remarked that Mr. Bynington 
 must be stricken with paralysis, because nothing 
 but the immediate approach of death would keep 
 him from smiling on a fair female face. 
 
18 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mrs. Aregave appeared that evening among the 
 other fashionable guests on the veranda of the 
 tavern and she was truly as lovely a creature as 
 the sun, or the electric lights, ever shone upon. 
 
 She was tall and graceful, but not too tall. The 
 rise and fall of her partly-developed bosom was 
 just discernible. Not obtrusive, as it generally 
 becomes in a matron; but an early healthy flush of 
 young innocence, apparent to the senses as well 
 as to the sight. Her eyes were of that bewilder- 
 ing color which seem to change under different 
 emotions blue but they are sometimes gray 
 but when they throw that soft-seductive glance on 
 some one they love, with all the soul of feeling 
 behind it, it is a boon which anyone would almost 
 sacrafice his hopes of the hereafter to enjoy. 
 
 Her lips were that red, rosy kissable affair, like 
 the petals just opening on a rosebud, and looked 
 as though the fortunate individual whoever got a 
 chance to kiss them would never leave off as long 
 as he was conscious of mundane existence. I 
 said her lips were like a rosebud; but, rather, 
 they resembled the newly opened bud of one of 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 19 
 
 the smaller varieties of the cacti, which grows 
 near the ground, and is all white and red red 
 and white and seems to be opening to be kissed. 
 It is the flower of her native heath, as they were 
 both nourished to life on the same soil, and 
 breathed of the same warm air. 
 
 Her whole form and being was one of kindness, 
 lavableness and trust. She was not half so 
 ambitious for wealth and power as she was de- 
 lighted to have some one to love her. And all she 
 would really ask of a man would be to give her 
 enough to eat, and his entire affections; though 
 rumor has already spread that she was a poor, un- 
 known orphan, who had married the rich old 
 Joseph Aregave for his wealth, he being worth 
 several millions in gold coin, mortgages, lands 
 and mines. 
 
 Nina Aregave, as her full name proved to be, 
 was one of the most natural little offsprings of the 
 human race probably ever seen in a civilized 
 country. Her appearance at Castle Crag was an 
 event never to be forgotten by the sojourners 
 there, and the impression she made on man, wo- 
 man and child will be remembered for life. There 
 were many young maidens quartered at the Castle 
 Crag resort at the time, and I can say without 
 flattery, or a chance of being disputed, that Cali- 
 fornia produces as many beautiful, voluptuous 
 women as any place on the face of the globe; but 
 
20 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 the beauty of Mrs. Aregave was exceptional to 
 any country, and it really found its birthplace 
 down on the desert, where the thorny giant cactus 
 (night-blooming cereus) looks over a dried-up 
 waste of sand. As some of the rarest, loveliest 
 flowers in the world bloom upon the bosom of 
 that produce-forsaken strand, so she, the most 
 precious flower of all, was reared away out on 
 that solemn trackless lonely waste, that one learns 
 to love if he lives there for any certain length of 
 time. 
 
 Omnia praeclara rara. 
 
 Her growth to womanhood on the free-unham- 
 pered level plains and low-rolllog hills, and her' 
 out-door life in the warm sunshine, had developed 
 something quite different from the house-hold, 
 matron-bred girl of the period. Her frank, trust- 
 ful, affectionate nature and awkward girlish ways, 
 linked with her wonderful beauty, were really 
 something puzzling, and they drove her male 
 admirers to distraction and they were every man 
 she met. 
 
 There was something about her that made a 
 man wish to rest his head upon her breast and be 
 at peace with all the world and the universe. 
 She had been reared in a land of unextinguished 
 fire, and had absorbed part of it in her nature, 
 and every man she met was attracted ~by its flame. 
 
 The young San Francisco belles having such a 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 21 
 
 rival as this were entirely blotted out of men's 
 thoughts. 
 
 She had been taught the rudiments of an edu- 
 cation at home and was then sent to advanced 
 schools, the last being a Normal School in South- 
 ern California. Outside of this book learning 
 she was entirely ignorant of the world. She had 
 a chaperon in the person of an old Mexican wo- 
 man, who had always lived in the family. Of 
 course the old crone knew enough to keep men 
 away from a young girl while she was single, but 
 after marriage she could go as she pleased that 
 is the Mexican style. 
 
 Such is this young daughter of earth, who we 
 met up near the base of Mount Shasta, and who 
 caused the production of this tale. 
 
 As lovable a creature as she is, though, it is 
 doubtful whether there is much affection in the 
 Aregave family or not; there seems to be some- 
 thing lacking; and then they are not well suited 
 or adapted to each other; and that passionate na- 
 ture of hers cannot long survive without some 
 strong attachment to cling to. 
 
 She knows not what is before her though, poor 
 girl, that affection of hers will be stretched to its 
 utmost tension before another summer rolls 
 around, and strong were she indeed if she could 
 resist the pressure of a man warmer in passion, 
 stronger in love than herself. 
 
 4 
 
22 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The next morning she was out bright and early, 
 like the bee, trying to sip the honey from the 
 flowers before it was kissed away by the sun. 
 
 I said bright and early, but the sun does not 
 get a sweep at that part of the canyon until about 
 8 or 9 o'clock A. M., so I suppose she was out at 
 least by 8. The other guests \vould probably all 
 be up by 10, if they had not been up too late the 
 night before and were in a good sober condition. 
 
 The scenery around the tavern was so pretty 
 that she took a run up on the hillside among the 
 trees, where a thick grove of evergreens looked 
 friendly and enticing. Here was the freedom of 
 the plains and the forest that she loved so well. 
 Every budding leaf spoke of the fellowship of na- 
 ture the act of developing into a sexual being, 
 capable of loving and enjoying the senses of life 
 and the air was so buoyant and light that she 
 went almost wild with delight, and ran happily 
 through the grove, singing and talking to the 
 natural wild elements of the forest. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 23 
 
 "O, ye dear old trees!'' she cried, "I can hug 
 and kiss you with a truly platonic affection. You 
 stand so quietly, disdaining our run-around, 
 struggling, fighting lives ! You seem so shelter- 
 ing to one who is growing heart-sick. Oh, how 
 you remind me of the happy days of my youth ! 
 the scenes around my childhood desert home 
 give me your shelter and sympathy, Oh monarch 
 of the forest ! ye breathe the same air that I do. 
 
 "I can hug you and love you," she cried with 
 the fullness of her heart, as she wrapped her arms 
 around a young pine, "and you, you old sentinel 
 of the mountains, I must hug you too, and you!" 
 she went on hugging the forest, regardless of get- 
 ting her. arms plastered with balsam. 
 
 "And hug me too !" gasped a form a few feet 
 in front of her. 
 
 And looking up she was startled to see that she 
 had come within a foot of bugging a strange man. 
 
 Neither of them could do more than stare at 
 each other, as they did not have presence of mind 
 enough to laugh at the ridiculous part of the 
 situation. It seemed so absurd, especially on her 
 part, to be going around the woods hugging 
 thiugs inanimate and animate. 
 
 But neither smiled they just gazed in each 
 other's eyes, till the strange creatures imagined 
 that they had always known each other, and were 
 a part of the first two kindred souls created, and 
 
 
 
24 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 were still out in the primeval woods, on a sphere 
 inhabited by no one but. themselves. Children of 
 the same kin, made up of atoms that had been 
 linked together in a bond of love in the distant 
 past; and their sympathetic planes filled with the 
 love-light of the wounded doe gazing upon her 
 helpless fawn, as they stood there partly un- 
 conscious of life just their inner beings holding 
 a telegraphic conversation with each other. It 
 was one of the queer, unexplainable things of na- 
 ture, that two people should recognize each other 
 as old friends the first time they met, and imagine 
 there is a love between them that had existed be- 
 fore the birth of this life had commenced at 
 Times dawn. 
 
 There may be a possibility that people meet 
 part of the atoms they had associated with in 
 some other life: that is, providing we admit the 
 hypothesis that they lived the other life, which is 
 not at all certain, and we believe not admitted by 
 the Christian world. 
 
 She finally dropped her eyes and walked back 
 to the hotel, her mind all in a flutter. She felt 
 ashamed because this man had heard her pouring 
 out her soul to the elements; puzzled whether she 
 had really known him before or not; why he 
 seemed to be a pa rt of her very self; and who he 
 could be anyway. All those thoughts seemed to 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 25 
 
 be crisscrossing themselves in her brain as she 
 returned to the hotel and sit down alone in the 
 corner of the dining room to eat her breakfast; 
 her spouse having already partaken of his. 
 
 "Had that man come out on the plains when I 
 was a girl," she mused, "before I went away to 
 prosaic school, and become old and worn; and we 
 had loved and li^ed together; driving cattle over 
 the plains, and watching the lazy lizard basking 
 in the sunshine on the mulberry tree by the cool 
 spring, and the quail calling to his mate from un- 
 der the screw-pod mezquite; without any idea of 
 the outer world, cit}' life, society, or the struggles 
 of humanity, how happy I could have been ! Such 
 fate was not intended for me, and love and 
 happiness will never be mine !" And she sighed 
 so deeply that the pretty little English girl who 
 waited on the table came over to her side to ex- 
 tend her sympathy, if the beautiful young lady of 
 wealth would have it. 
 
 But no, she was thinking of the tender look 
 given her that morning by a strange man in the 
 woods. 
 
 Alas ! they had been too earnest at that first 
 meeting for their own peace of mind, when they 
 met again and became better acquainted they 
 would only steal sly glances at each other which 
 might have attracted the attention of a close 
 observer, but the people on their summer outing 
 
26 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 were not observing so closely and that very 
 seldom when in the presence of others. 
 
 Many times that day she wondered who the 
 man was who had aroused her curiosity to such an 
 extent, and would give anything to know whether 
 he stopped at the hotel or was just some wild 
 man of the woods. She took pains to notice all 
 the male guests there, but had not as yet seen 
 him, so she made up her mind that the passing 
 fascination was a very foolish one and she would 
 think no more about it. 
 
 So she seated herself by the window in the 
 spacious office, which looked so much like the in- 
 terior of an old English tavern in the time of 
 Queen Anne, and so very homelike; and looked 
 out at the window on the pretty landscape, the 
 winding river and the gray old peaks of Castle 
 Crags that stood away up against the blue sky mi 
 the other side of the river, forming a background 
 to the panorama spread before her. She sat and 
 dreamed of her childhood and the wonderful 
 changes that had -already taken place in her brief 
 young life. Not yet within a year or two of 
 twenty, and persuaded into marrying a rich old 
 man whom she cared very little about. She might 
 be happy and contented with everything which 
 wealth could bestow, but it did not suit her fancy 
 and poetic imagination to be so, she wanted to 
 have romantic love affairs. And, us we hinted be- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 27 
 
 fore, there was something lacking in this marriage 
 which she hardly understood herself. 
 
 The strange man came into her vision again, and 
 as she cast her eyes over the lawn she saw him 
 coming up the gravel walk, his face lit up with an 
 expression she called the light of genius. 
 
 She stepped over to the counter and asked the 
 clerk who the gentleman was. 
 
 "That is Ben Bynington, madam/' responded 
 that agreeable functionary. "He is a very enter- 
 taining gentleman, and besides putting in his time, 
 he has helped to make considerable amusement 
 here of late, in the way of private theatricals and 
 other functions. Let me introduce him?" quizzed 
 the clerk, always ready to make acquaintances 
 among the guests, or to work up affairs which 
 might eventually lead into something more 
 serious 
 
 "Mr. Bynington, this is Mrs. Aregave, one of 
 our latest arrivals!" said the functionary as 
 Bynington entered. 
 
 "Mr. Bynington is acting a part in Julius 
 Caesar here now, just for amusement, you know. 
 Do you ever take a part io private theatricals, 
 Mrs. Aregave?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no ! I could not go before the 
 public on the stage," answered the lady. "Though 
 I have sang a little in that line in a small way. 
 Used to take quite an interest in it at Normal 
 
28 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 School. I like theatres and theatrical people, 
 what I have seen of them." 
 
 "Well, that is just what we need, isn't it, Mr. 
 Byningtou ?" asked the clerk. "A singer for the 
 intervals between your tragedy and Mr. Landers' 
 wit." And just then Mr. Landers came down the 
 hall. 
 
 "Mr. Landers, Mrs. Aregave," and Mr. Landers 
 bowed to the lady in his most graceful manner. 
 
 The new acquaintances fell to discussing the 
 drama, and made arrangements to give a play or 
 selections from plays for the amusement of the 
 wives and daughters of San Francisco's four hun- 
 dred. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Joseph Aregave was a wealthy old man with 
 very little wit, and would pass for a gentleman all 
 right among people who worship gold as their 
 king. He had been a rough enough looking 
 character in his younger days, but his associations 
 and the advantages that money and good clothes 
 gave him as he grew older made him appear quite 
 aristocratic. 
 
 His face was beginning to show the ravages of 
 time, and the physical essence which gave vigor to 
 the system was fast drying up. 
 
 He was by profession a money-loaner and 
 millionaire, and was as grasping an old creature as 
 one could meet with anywhere. The usurer was a 
 little peculiar himself. He had come to the Coast 
 in early days, then a young boy from off his 
 father's farm, and struggled against ill luck for 
 many years; but finally he got to accumulating 
 money and developed the habit of hoarding it. 
 He saw how money could be made by loaning it 
 
 6 
 
30 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 at big interest, with a dead-mortal-cinch security, 
 so he soon developed into a usurer of the most 
 pronounced type Every idea had left his head 
 but per-cent, per-cent ! 
 
 He lived to the age of fifty odd years without 
 taking to himself a wife. He may have had pretty 
 good reasons for this. The majority of women he 
 met on the Pacific Coast in his younger days were 
 not worth marrying, and those who were worth 
 marrying would not have him. So he lived on 
 from year to year and hoarded up wealth just 
 piled it up. The older he grew the meaner he 
 got, and he ran along with his head in the ground 
 looking for per-cent, per-cent ! 
 
 He had lots of poor relatives in the East, but 
 he could afford to give nothing to them. How 
 could he give money to poor relatives when he 
 could get twelve and twenty-four percent interest, 
 and sometimes thirty-six per cent? 
 
 He said "I never make it si point to loan money 
 unless I can get double the amount in security. 
 Collateral is good enough if there is enough of it, 
 but the rate of interest must be high on every 
 thing but real estate, and that they can have 
 money on at twelve-per-cent, twelve-per-cent I" 
 and the old shark would twist up his thumbs and 
 look wise. 
 
 He was really as surly as an Apache; as calcu- 
 latingly sober as a civil engineer; as big a fraud 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 31 
 
 as a politician; and as witless as a bank cashier. 
 
 And it so happened that in his wanderings 
 around he met this wonderfully pretty school girl 
 at a Normal School in Southern California, and 
 seeing that she was a perfect child of Nature full 
 of the first burst of womanly love and life, and 
 entirely ignorant of the world, he laid plans to 
 capture her make her his wife so he would have 
 some one to take care of him in his old age and 
 succeeded. 
 
 She was an orphan and was being educated by 
 the trustees of her father's estate, which consisted 
 of a ranch and a band of cattle on the desert. 
 Her father and mother had been killed by Indians 
 when she was a little girl of ten or twelve years, 
 and she escaped with the old Senora, who has 
 been her only companion since. 
 
 So it was quite in the probabilities that he 
 should succeed in a small affair like that. A man 
 with several million dollars ought to be able to 
 win a school girl of slender means, if he went 
 about it right; and the Trustees were not back- 
 ward in assisting a transaction of that kind, if 
 there was a consideration in it for them; and her 
 old Mexican counseloress, or confessoress, was de- 
 lighted to see her married and off her hands, so 
 she could sit down and roll her cigarettes in per- 
 fect comfort. 
 
 And thus it happened that old usurer Aregave 
 
32 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 came to be visiting the summer resorts with a 
 sweet young wife. 
 
 After putting in a lifetime loaning money and 
 getting the dead mortal cinch on people who were 
 not in a position to protect themselves he imagin- 
 ed that he was one of the brightest individuals on 
 the face of the earth. 
 
 After they had become acquainted at the hotel, 
 settled down on a social footing and the wife had 
 made a few friends, the old man was going to be 
 certain that she did not go off on a tangent, over- 
 step the bounds of propriety or have any flirta- 
 tions on the side. He considered himself particu- 
 larly clever in molding the future conduct of his 
 wife. 
 
 There was a mystery about this marriage any- 
 way, which probably gave him some anxiety, and 
 which accounts to some extent for his wife's 
 conduct. This mystery she could not, or dared 
 not explain, made life a curse. It may be reveal- 
 ed to the reader later on. 
 
 There was very little of a social nature trans- 
 piring at this resort that was of much particular 
 interest. In fact the wives and daughters of the 
 well-to-do just fill up such places in the summer 
 time in order to be going somewhere, and to find 
 a change of climate. Though there were severed 
 ladies and gentlemen who were quite talented, 
 and helped amuse the others by delivering ora- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 33 
 
 tions, reciting extracts from plays, and rendering 
 vocal and instrumental music in a really entertain- 
 ing manner. By far the best of those was Ben 
 Bynington. He was a poet and a natural gifted 
 actor, and could render some parts of Shakespeare 
 admirably. He would deliver short pieces from 
 Julius Caesar better than any actor I ever heard, 
 with the possible exception of Edwin Booth. He 
 was good at tragedy and touching scenes; his 
 nature being one of pathos and emotions. I have 
 heard him exclaim after Brutus: 
 
 Lucius, a bowl of wine ! 
 
 O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs ! 
 
 No man bears sorrow better Portia is dead. 
 
 when it would send a thrill through the frame of 
 every person in the audience, though the words 
 were uttered so low that they were scarcely aud- 
 ible. The heart, and soul, and precious fire were 
 in the man, though they very often slept, and the 
 ignorant and unthinking were measuring him up 
 as a dunce. I wonder if that is not a general 
 custom of the ignorant towards finer clay than 
 themselves, anyway? 
 
34 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Since Mrs. Aregave's appearance among the 
 sojourners at the Crags she has been admitted 
 into the inner circle of the very elite. She is so 
 amiable and agreeable, and has the most tender, 
 emotional voice imaginable, which is greatly ad- 
 mired by all who have had the pleasure of hearing 
 her sing. So when they gave any social functions 
 or musicals she was prevailed upon to take a part, 
 and was generally too accommodating to refuse. 
 
 Another delightful songbird rusticating there 
 at the time this narrative opens was Miss Lillian 
 Hortense (whom we have referred to before in 
 this work) a very charming young girl with a 
 sweet, heavenly voice; and a carriage as noble as 
 the Venus de Medici, though the lines were a 
 shade more delicately drawn and the contour 
 more refined. 
 
 With such talent as Mine. Aregave, Miss Hor- 
 tense, Mr. Bynington and Mr. Landers they ar- 
 ranged to give ti series of dramatical entertain- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 35 
 
 ments which would surpass anything ever heard 
 of in that bend-in-the-canyon, and the likes of 
 which has never been heard there since, or prob- 
 ably never will be again. The pathos of their 
 utterances awakened emotion in the hearts of the 
 most frivolous, and arroused the thoughtless to 
 an understanding of the depth of the universe. 
 
 One night they put upon the boards a little 
 performance (I forget now just what it was called) 
 Mr. Bynington and Mrs. Aregave played the lead- 
 ing rolls; the latter personating one of those 
 charming widows, whom any old bachelor would 
 go wild over, or one who would "set ten (or a 
 hundred) poets raving." This started in to be a 
 very tragic love affair, but it changed around and 
 came out so pleasantly in the end, and they loved 
 each other so tenderly and naturally that the 
 young ladies in the audience could hardly control 
 themselves with delight, and in their inner hearts 
 wished the affair was theirs. 
 
 Then Miss Lillian Hortense sang O, so sweet 
 and tender! The words fell from her lips like 
 the trembling rippling waters of the mountain 
 streams dancing over the russet pebbles; or the 
 music made by the delicate wild flowers when 
 their soft petals were being played upon by the 
 light breezes from old Shasta. It was charming 
 and found its way into the inner recesses of the 
 heart, and made the listener acknowledge that he 
 
36 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 had not lived in vain. 
 
 When silence was restored after the long ap- 
 plause of this scene, Mr. Landers personated an 
 Irish character, who had a Ittle too much "booze" 
 aboard, and won renown. 
 
 Then Mr. Bynington came out and gave one of 
 his masterpieces from the immortal lines of the 
 dramatist and carried the audience away off into 
 the heroic fields of ancient histor}', even to where 
 he exclaimed: 
 
 "Adieu, and take thy praize with thee to 
 heaven !" 
 
 He could not avoid an encore, and left the stage a 
 second time while being pelted with flowers by 
 the young ladies, after winding up with 
 
 * # * "Soft you now ! 
 The fair Ophelia nymph, in thy orisons 
 Be all my sins remembered !" 
 
 The night's entertainment was not allowed to 
 end without hearing some music from the lips of 
 the lovely Mrs. Aregave. She reappeared and 
 sang a little commonplace song that breathed the 
 air of the plains. It was an account of a lonely 
 rider dashing for his life from a band of Apache 
 Indians. In the song one could really hear him 
 beat the trembling plains beneath his charger's 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 37 
 
 feet. One could feel the wind as it slid from the 
 rider on his race for life, and could hear the shouts 
 of the redskins fading away on the plains behind. 
 All the feeling and love in her warm, tender na- 
 ture flowed from her beautiful red lips and man 
 felt like worshiping as at a shrine. 
 
 After the music of her voice died away down 
 the recesses of the long halls and melted out into 
 unending space, to revibrate perhaps on some 
 other shore, in some other heart, the long applause 
 started in and shook the very vacuum in the electric 
 lights. 
 
 I have forgotten the words of the song, but this 
 was about the meaning it conveyed: 
 
 JDSE'S GALLANT RIDE. 
 
 A frontier gallant, young Jose, 
 
 Renown'd throughout the land, 
 
 Rode forth upon the plains one day 
 To claim his lady's hand. 
 
 To meet the object of his heart, 
 
 This son of Mexico, 
 Must cross a wilderness apart, 
 
 Where thorny cacti grow. 
 
 A desert broad, and loan, and bare, 
 Where bad Apaches roam, 
 
 And scurry for the scalp and hair 
 Of those who stray from home. 
 
 He had not half his journey paced 
 
 8 
 
38 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 When checking up his rein: 
 One lingering, longing look retraced, 
 Ere spurring on again. 
 
 Then bent his eyes in fondness where 
 The firmament and plain 
 
 Met in the distant hazy air 
 Above his love's domain. 
 
 Another nervous glance he took 
 Towards a shrubby shade, 
 
 Where living shadows seem'd to look 
 From out the silent glade. 
 
 And while he gazed, a tawny form 
 Burst from the shelter there, 
 
 And, rising like a coming storm, 
 Waved high his hand in air. 
 
 Behind him came a swarthy band 
 
 Of Athapascan men, 
 Who veil'd the air in clouds of sand 
 
 As they swept down the glen. 
 
 With shout, and yell, and powder flash! 
 
 The savage tribe came on 
 One shot returned Then with a dash 
 
 His steed had turn'd and gone. 
 
 Across the desert waste they bound; 
 
 The hunted in the lead; 
 While hard behind they aim to wound 
 
 His trusty, fleeting steed. 
 
 But to his horse he gave the rein, 
 And proudly on his back. 
 
 Glides swiftly o'er the trembling plain 
 For miles before the pack. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 39 
 
 They speed across the mesa land; 
 
 O'er ridge, ravine and park, 
 Where buzzards soar above the strand 
 
 And lean coyotes bark. 
 
 The young Oastilian keeps the lead, 
 Though bullets thick and fast 
 
 Fly closely round his noble steed 
 Is sinking down at last. 
 
 "Now, for your life!" he urges on 
 
 Her home is hard before 
 The friendly goal is almost won, 
 
 And lover at the door! 
 
 Alas, the wounded horse sinks down ! 
 
 When near the esplanade; 
 And (wild to gain his tribe's renown) 
 
 The foremost renegade. 
 
 Sweeps madly on the young Jose 
 
 To deal one deadly thrust 
 A volley bursts across the way 
 
 The redskin sinks to dust ! 
 
 His tribe departs the storm of lead 
 Belch 'd from the Rancho wall, 
 
 And young Jose is safely led 
 Within the Casa hall. 
 
 The fair young maid had seen afar 
 
 The deadly onward strife, 
 And rous'd the Rancho's force of war 
 
 To save her lover's life. 
 
 Mr. Aregave would help to make up the audi- 
 ence at some of those entertainments and had a 
 
40 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 fair appreciation of his wife's talents. Though he 
 would not join in the applause be could some- 
 times be heard to remark "That is capital ! capital! 
 It is equal to twelve per-cent, twelve pe-cent!" 
 While he would twist his thumbs in right good 
 humor. 
 
 Mrs. Aregave and young Landers had become 
 very fast friends. He is quite amusing aud pop- 
 ular as an all around ridiculous character. So the 
 lady sometimes sours the feelings of her husband 
 by being on too friendly terms with him. Of 
 course she does nothing but talk and make fun 
 with the youth; but that does not always please 
 her lord. With Ben Bynington she is quite dif- 
 ferent. She always keeps a respectable distance 
 from him (when off the stage) and the two enter 
 into no familiarities. They never joke with each 
 other, though they are both well supplied with 
 wit and good humor. 
 
 Mr. Aregave is not at all pleased with his wife 
 for taking so kindly to tlay young harum-scarum 
 from the Bay; and whenever any of the young 
 people take a ride over any of the mountain 
 trails, and she accompanies the party, without 
 him, he endeavors to have Bynington act as her 
 escort. So in that way the two are thrown much 
 together; and they act more naturally than wheti 
 in the society of others. In fact they are the two 
 most devoted people when out alone that were 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 41 
 
 ever seen together, excepting of course lovers, and 
 that would be out of the question. She would 
 not entertain a thought about being untrue to her 
 lord for the world. She would rather die first ! 
 
 But still, they could have little innocent flirta- 
 tions. The touch of the end of her fingers as he 
 handed her a cup of soda water from the spring; 
 the clasp of her hand while assisting her to alight 
 from her steed; the tender glance exchanged as he 
 presents a wild flower, plucked for her benefit 
 from the steep precipice; and the thousand and 
 one little sighs and glances between two people 
 who think that there is a kindred connection be- 
 tween them somewhere in the universe these 
 often send a thrill through his frame and makes 
 him want to clasp her in his arms and shower 
 kiss and kiss! on these enticing lips! 
 
 But he never made any such familiar move as 
 that, which would be shocking, and surely would 
 have offended her feelings; but, still, it is hard to 
 tell whether she would have had the power to re- 
 sist. 
 
 Mr. Landers is dead in love with her too, when 
 he is not flirting with some of the other women, 
 and he imagines that the only thing that keeps 
 his love affair from being a successful one is her 
 jealous old husband, who should have been dead 
 long ago. An old man has no business with a 
 pretty wife anyway she should be his daughter. 
 
 9 
 
42 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 And so I would like to make her in this story 
 if I was writing fiction, and it grieves me sore to 
 think I cannot change it; but as I am jotting down 
 the lives of real people I must adhere strictly to 
 the truth, whatever comes of it. Like Plutarch, I 
 am writing Lives. There are pretty young ladies 
 enough at this summer resort, heaven knows; some 
 of them rich and beautiful too, and I might marry 
 two of those charming creatures to these young 
 men, for certainly they ought to be married (a 
 person is a fool who lives in single blessedness); 
 but I cannot marry them as they did not take it in 
 their heads to do that for themselves. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 43 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Some of the sojourners at the tavern that sum- 
 mer were the most interesting people whoever 
 came together at a summer resort on the Pacific 
 Coast, as the reader should imagine by this time. 
 
 Of course there was a goodly number of the bud- 
 ding debutantes, who considered that the world 
 was made for them alone, and there was the self- 
 important 3'oung swell with his cigarette-face and 
 pants turned up at the heels. But the majority 
 of them were very good people and some of the 
 young ladies were the fairest on the continent. 
 
 There were the two Misses Ashland, daughters 
 of one of San Francisco's richest families, and the 
 ever charming Miss Hortense, all as wealthy and 
 fair as the sun ever shone upon. And Lans 
 Hallmore, a young man of considerable promise. 
 They, and our three friends, Bynington, Landers 
 and Mrs. Aregave, had many a delightful drive, 
 ride and stroll over the country together that sum- 
 mer. They would ride or prowl at will over the 
 
44 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 dusty roads or in the deep forests; and for reck- 
 less, slovenly traveling they could discount, at 
 times, the woodsman, who inhabits the region at 
 the present day, or the squawman of the vanishing 
 past. 
 
 I have seen them driving over the mountains, 
 the feminine contingent reckless of the display 
 of their pretty limbs and bewitching charms, and 
 the gallants so attentive to assist them to and 
 from their steeds. And then to sit down in the 
 shade of a big tree, tell stories, discuss the latest 
 novel and gossip on the affairs of the day. Or 
 seated by the river, watching the gentle current 
 ripple, ripple over the pebbles, while they gazed 
 contentedly upon the water and dreamed of other 
 scenes and climes. 
 
 They would go in bathing altogether, in a deep 
 pool in the cold water of the Sacramento river. 
 Some of the young ladies in bathing suits which 
 hardly contained material enough to make a fly- 
 ing-jib for a wheelbarrow, or a hood for the great 
 American eagle, but their male companions would 
 admire their angelic forms without a blush; while 
 Castle Crags and Mount Shasta would look down 
 benignly and nod their approval. 
 
 O, these were delightful days! but how brief. 
 
 How brief is happiness, anyway ! Are there any 
 of us who have pleasure for any length of time '? 
 
 Mrs. Aregave never engaged in any of those 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 45 
 
 swimming tornaments. She would rather sit and 
 dream by the river banks. Or go with Bynington 
 for a walk over the gravel trail to the soda 
 spring. 
 
 How exquisitely nice it was sitting down in the 
 cool shade by the babbling spring, watching the 
 natural soda water gurgling up from the internal 
 regions of the earth, and discussing the various 
 characters in current fiction with her. She had a 
 deep insight into human nature, and could take a 
 character from a novel and give a wonderfully 
 accurate description of its strength and weakness 
 as to what the author's intentions were in pro- 
 ducing the character, and how far he had succeed- 
 ed in carrying out his designs. She was a very 
 vivacious interesting talker when she was warmed 
 up to her subject, took an interest in it and 
 was not dreaming. Then she made a picture so 
 attractive that I do not believe there is a man 
 living who could escape falling in love with her. 
 As she sit on the ground with her form a little too 
 much revealed, her dress creeping up above her 
 shapely ankles not vulgar or not doing it pur- 
 posely to show them, like some vicious married 
 women whom I have known (highly respectable 
 ladies too) though they will make some singular 
 breaks towards certain of their bachelor friends. 
 But this child of Nature was just a simple, awk- 
 ward, schoolgirl in that line, and never tried to 
 10 
 
46 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 attract a man in her life they come to her with- 
 out any efforts on her part. She was never vul- 
 gar. What would have been considered vulgarity 
 in others, in her was sublime. 
 
 That beautiful brown hair could not be kept up 
 either, or made to conform to the rules of fashion; 
 but must wander off on the breath of ever} r little 
 zephyr that chose to play with its locks, and the 
 more it wandered and tossed around the prettier 
 she looked. 
 
 It was at some of these exclusive outings where 
 Bynington and she became very fast friends. In- 
 deed they were growing too friendly altogether 
 for people under thir condition and circumstances. 
 She lying on the grass picking the delicate little 
 cats-ears, pink sweet-williams, blue lilacs and 
 other sweet-scented flowers of the wild-woods, and 
 he seated at her feet biting pine-needles, gazing 
 in her eyes and talking on themes which generally 
 lead to love was not exactly a proper avocation 
 for the bride of another man. But then if the 
 husband had no objection I don't see as we have 
 any right to interfere. Mr. Aregave was jealous 
 enough, but he thought he was keeping her away 
 from Mr. Landers and consequently it was all 
 right. 
 
 I said she understood books. That in itself is 
 something uncommon, especially in a girl of her 
 years and experience, but whether it is a virtue 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 47 
 
 or a vice I am not prepared to say. 
 
 On one particular occasion they were so seated 
 near the soda spring discussing the merits of the 
 latest literary fad (I forget just what book it was) 
 and they finally drifted into deeper literature. 
 
 "What do you think of Hamlet?" said she 
 
 Any fool might ask this question, but Nina was 
 seeking knowledge, and knew she was addressing 
 a man capable of imparting it. 
 
 "Hamlet is a deep work, worthy more study 
 than any other literary production in the language," 
 he replied. "Some of the deepest parts of the plot 
 are really not told in the play." 
 
 "It seems unnecessary for Hamlet to start for 
 England and then return without accomplishing 
 any purpose," she continued, leading him out. 
 
 "Carlyle says about the same thing. And I am 
 surprised that as deep a philosopher as Carlyle 
 could not see that the whole plot of the play 
 hinged on that trip to England. And right there 
 is where the play is so natural unexpected 
 events arose which overturned the plans of both 
 Hamlet and his villainous uncle." 
 
 "Yes, that is natural. There is always things 
 happening in real life to overthrow our plans !" 
 and she sighed deeply. 
 
 "Man is always being swayed by the force of 
 the Fates," he continued, "and it is a strong man 
 indeed who has will power enough to make his 
 
 ^] 
 
48 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 own fate." 
 
 "I wish I could make mine," she broke in. 
 
 "Let me be vour fate," he answered, very much 
 in earnest. 
 
 "No! Go on with the fate of Hamlet." 
 
 "When Hamlet started for England he knew 
 his uncle, the king, was guilty of murder, but he 
 had no proof against him save the words of a 
 ghost, and you know a ghost is a poor witness to 
 bring into any court to prove a case, even that of 
 Denmark. And this ghost, anyway, would not 
 show up in the sunshine, so it would be utterly 
 impossible to take his deposition. Especially 
 would he disappear at the thoughts of going be- 
 fore a notary. Now Hamlet embarked for England 
 like an honest young man, with the avowed in- 
 tention of paying his respects to the king of that 
 country, and was accompanied by two rogues. 
 Those two rogues were hirelings of the king, 
 sent along to do him up. Hamlet being of a sus- 
 picious turn of mind, as anyone should be who 
 had been holding nightly seances with immaterial 
 spirits, arose in the night while his companions 
 slept and went through their pockets. This thing 
 is only told by Hamlet to Horatio afterwards in a 
 hall in the castle, and I will give his exact words: 
 
 " 'Up from my cabin, 
 
 My sea-gown scarf 'd about me, in the dark 
 Groped I to find out them: had my desire; 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 49 
 
 Finger'd their pockets; and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again: making so bold, 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission; where I found,Horatio, 
 A royal knavery; an exact command, 
 Larded with many several sorts of reasons, 
 Importing Denmark's health and England's too, 
 With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life, 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, 
 My head should be struck off.' 
 
 "Now, there is royal knavery, indeed. Hamlet 
 left the ship at the first opportunity and skipped 
 back to Denmark with the royal commission in his 
 pocket, signed with the king's own hand." 
 
 "And the two knaves went on to England." 
 
 "Yes, after Hamlet 'I sat me down; devised a 
 new commission; wrote it fair' That the bearers 
 be put to sudden death. 'Not shriving-time al- 
 lowed.'" 
 
 "So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz went 
 
 to 't ?' " 
 
 "'They are not near my conscience; their defeat 
 Does by their own insinuation grow: 
 'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites !' ' 
 
 "Hamlet and the king were two strong char- 
 acters, weren't they, Mr. Bynington ?" 
 11 
 
50 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 "It would have been dangerous for a pretty 
 young woman like you to fool with either of those 
 old Dutchmen, I tell you. They were not inno- 
 cent old book-worms like I." 
 
 "Then Hamlet returned." 
 
 "Yes, Nina I mean Mrs. ahem ! Now he had 
 evidence enough to have the king's head cut off, 
 or to arouse a mob of Danes to hang him to a 
 tree. He also intended, very likely, when he 
 came back to marry the fair Ophelia, kill off the 
 old king and the two of them would reign happily 
 over the Danes ever afterwards." 
 
 "Wouldn't that be nice!" 
 
 "It would be sweet But, alas, for well laid 
 plans. The first thing he ran across was two 
 clowns in the graveyard, digging a grave for 
 Ophelia; the next he was invited to a duel, and 
 his plans, as well as those of the monarch, ended 
 in their deaths." 
 
 "I see, their plans miscarried." 
 
 "Yes. They all had a mis I mean they 
 missed their chances of further existence right 
 there ! 
 
 "Envenomed rapiers, poisoned drinks and 
 Hamlet's valor floored all of them." 
 
 "Hamlet didn't seem to have much love for 
 Ophelia," she said after a pause, looking on him 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 51 
 
 with those enchanting eyes. 
 
 "He never met you," he answered, trying to get 
 hold of her hand, which had now turned to pluck 
 some flowers. 
 
 "Don't! it isn't right there's some one 
 coming." 
 
 He went to the spring to get her a drink of 
 water, as footsteps sounded on the walk. 
 
52 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 One fine morning a merr}' party of the lazy 
 guests might have been seen sauntering across 
 the lawn bound on a fishing expedition down the 
 Sacramento They tripped along in that leisurely 
 careless gait that marks the pace of the well bred 
 and well fed. 
 
 There were the two Misses Ashland, Miss 
 Hortense, Mrs. Aregave, Mr. Byningtun, Mr. 
 Landers and one or two others. They made their 
 way towards the rushing waters as eagerly as 
 King Charles of Sweden and his scattered 
 warriors made for the Borysthenes, such was 
 their welcome for a river. 
 
 They threw their fancy poles over the blue 
 surface and commenced to whip the troubled 
 waters up and down stream, over rock, bush and 
 bramble. Some of them might keep at it until 
 doom's day and never get a bite. It is certain 
 that the Fish Commissioners need have no ap- 
 prehension for the extinction of the trout species 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 53 
 
 because of the angling skill of our friends. 
 
 The party after dallying a while with the 
 stream wandered around and soon became scatter- 
 ed along the shady bank. 
 
 Mrs. Aregave and Bynington found themselves 
 sauntering leisurely, down stream, among the 
 green ferns, broad lilies and umbrella plants. 
 They had lost sight of their companions and were 
 rather lost to their surroundings. The river was 
 skirted on their side by some beautiful old pine 
 trees that made a perfect shade, and a thick 
 growth of underbrush had grown up between 
 eight and ten feet high which made the place a 
 perfect thicket in which to get lost. It was one 
 of ,the prettiest little paradises in the world into 
 which man and woman ever wandered. The 
 ground was covered with green foliage as soft as 
 Brussels carpet, strewn with a luxurous 
 growth of wild flowers of every hue. The moist 
 plants of the river hung their heads up over the 
 bank in great profusion to court the flowers of 
 the upland. The day outside was quite hot and 
 sultry, but within this eden bower it was cool and 
 invigorating, and the air was scented with the 
 sweet perfume of the flowers. 
 
 They stood between two pine trees which were 
 woven together overhead by a network of vines, 
 the ground at their feet looked like a huge lounge 
 constructed in the forest for some tired travelers 
 
 12 
 
54 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 to recline upon. They both, touched with similar 
 instinct, sat clown, and they sank nearly a foot in 
 the wild grass and flowers. It was pretty to lay 
 one's head on the ground and watch the blossoms 
 waving over his face. He could imagine them to 
 be big trees swaying over a plain, or change the 
 spears of grass into a regiment of soldiers, or 
 most anything his fancy pleased. 
 
 They commenced to talk of the country and the 
 fish in the river, and the birds in the trees, but 
 they could not follow the thread of the story, be- 
 cause they were in someway enticed to look at 
 each other. 
 
 Who could help looking at the mortal (and im- 
 mortal) form of Mrs. Aregave, leaning back in a 
 nest of wild flowers, her pretty head pillowed 
 upon the mossy roots of a vine-clad tree, her form 
 stretched out as usual and partly visible beneath 
 her light clothing. The rise and fall of her 
 breast was the only movement discernible, other- 
 wise it might be the production of some designer 
 in marble. 
 
 From where they lay they had a fine glimpse of 
 the placid river, and their gaze were attracted to 
 it, as it stretched away in a peaceful, unriffled 
 sheet, with the green foliage dripping in its edges 
 and shutting out all other ^views. The stream 
 made a turn above, so there was nothing to be 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 55 
 
 seen but the green leaves and the silver-colored 
 surface of the water. 
 
 "What is there in a smooth, glassy sheet of 
 water where the banks are hidden by green 
 leaves, and a stillness resting on the surface, 
 which attracts the senses, or the understanding, 
 as it were, as nothing else does?" Said Mr. 
 Bynington, putting the question to his compan- 
 ion. "I used to think, when a boy, that it was 
 just a fancy of mine, but after seeing so many 
 painters put the same on canvas with the same 
 thoughts I have come to the conclusion that it 
 impresses everybody alike." 
 
 "I know it always catches my fancy," she re- 
 plied. "I love to sit by it and dream." 
 
 "There is something about that look that 
 first glimpse of the quiet, calm surface 
 which impresses one with a love of nature pecu- 
 liar to itself." 
 
 "And one invariably expects to see in the pic- 
 ture two lovers drifting in a boat, with garments 
 of gossamer and covered with wreathes of 
 flowers." 
 
 "Or sitting on the*- banks, with the water lav- 
 ing their feet." he said. 
 
 "See it now?" she slid, pointing a delicate fin- 
 ger. "Isn't it tranquil? Isn't it soul-filling? 
 If we could only sail upon its surface?" 
 
 He looked on the water and he looked in her 
 
56 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 soulful eyes. She seemed to contain the whole 
 heavenly image of the scene in her person. 
 
 "If we could only go sailing together for ever 
 and ever?" he said, and reached his arm around 
 her waist. They were seated on a bed of flowers, 
 and she did not try to move away. 
 
 He took her hand in the one he had disengaged 
 and held it palm to palm, with their fingers inter- 
 locked, they sit there gazing in each other's eyes. 
 They had no tongue to talk, or no inclination to 
 use it anyway. Her pretty red lips were chang- 
 ing color with the natural fire of excitement 
 those lips were entirely irresistable he was los- 
 ing his head and heart they were both fast los- 
 ing their heads, hearts and senses. 
 
 They leaned back on the green sward, crushing 
 the blood-red snow-flowers and purple lupins be- 
 neath their weight their hearts beating together, 
 their lips coming closer and closer. His extended 
 lips had already touched the pouting curves of 
 her burning skin 
 
 When a sharp crack is heard a few feet away, 
 and they darted apart before the anxious lips had 
 a chance to have one clinging press. 
 
 Some one had jumped off a log and broken a 
 dead limb. 
 
 They just had time to sit up a few feet apart 
 when Miss Hortense appeared on the scene. She 
 noticed nothing; or at least pretended not to no- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 57 
 
 tice. But they were trembling like the leaves of 
 the aspiu. 
 
 In a few minutes, following her, came Mr. Are- 
 gave looking for his better half, and he came so 
 noiselessly that he was right on top of them be- 
 fore being noticed. His wife was then picking a 
 few wild flowers, and probably thinking of what 
 might have been if Miss Hortense had not pre- 
 ceded her lord. 
 
 Bynington was afraid to think. There are times 
 in the lives of men when it is better not to 
 think at all 
 
 "A capital place this is to rest," said Mr. Are* 
 gave, rubbing his thumbs. "Capital ? Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! worth twelve per-cent twelve percent!" And 
 he took his wife's arm in his and they walked off 
 towards the tavern. 
 
 Bynington was considerably unnerved by the 
 shock the numerous things that had transpired 
 in such a short space of time would unnerve any- 
 body. 
 
 But looking up and seeing the sweet, mild face 
 of Lillian Hortense bent on his he felt greatly 
 soothed and calmed. He had forgotten for several 
 weeks that her countenance was a soothing balm 
 for anything. He wanted her to sit down on the 
 green grass where the other had been, but she 
 
 13 
 
58 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 hastily declined, and seemed to be in a humor to 
 move on. 
 
 So they quit the place and threaded their way 
 along the river bank like a little sister and brother 
 returning home from school. 
 
 After traveling a little way they came to 
 another bunch of trees overhanging the river, 
 similar to the bower they had left. There were a 
 few sturdy oaks, making a genuine silven grove 
 and woven together by vines of the wild grape 
 as though bound by a band of love. The grape 
 leaves and flowery creepers of tenderer plants 
 had partitioned them off from the river, and in 
 fact had them pretty near surrounded. The vines 
 were woven among the branches of the trees over- 
 head and formed a protection from the rays of 
 the sun, and shut off the view of the surrounding 
 country. When they found their way barred by 
 the profuse foliage they stopped and contem- 
 plated the situation. They found nothing there 
 so interesting as a study of each other, and he 
 considered her his guardian angel. He was never 
 so much attracted by her mild beauty as now 
 They were standing side by side and her modest 
 eyes were cast down. Just one little red spot 
 burning on her cheek, all else was tranquil; a 
 beautiful, good young girl and a picture of 
 modern virtue. She was of a milder nature than 
 Nina Aregave, whom he had just quit, and her 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 59 
 
 love did not thrill one the same, it rather soothed 
 than blinded one with passion. Now being out 
 of the influence of the other he readily trans- 
 ferred his affections to her. 
 
 It may sound peculiar to hear of him making 
 love to one girl just after escaping from the em- 
 braces of another, but such was Mr. Bynington 
 doing at this time. In fact, he had met those 
 two women for the first time on the same morn- 
 ing and fell desperately in love with them both. 
 
 It was the love which Lillian Hortense had 
 awakened which helped to make him yield so 
 readily to the charms of the enchantress, Nina, 
 when she alighted from the train on that memor- 
 able morning, as described in our first chapter. 
 His feelings had been sensitively opened to love 
 and he was just ready to receive a shock. Now 
 he was returning to his first love after a heavy 
 shock. 
 
 This thing of falling iu love with two beautiful 
 women in one day may seem to be a little out of 
 the common place, but it is true. He had a genu- 
 ine love for both. No flitting episode to be 
 forgotten when the passion died out, but one that 
 found lodgment deep d >wn in the heart and 
 lasted as long as life. 
 
 There are probably people who may doubt this 
 statement, but they must remember that we are 
 
60 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 not all constituted alike, and the writer knows 
 whereof he speaks. 
 
 Anyway the love for Mrs. Aregave was a hope- 
 less one, or a foolish one at least. It could only 
 pass away an idle hour at best. But there is no 
 knowing what hopes he had built up on gaining 
 the affection of Miss Hortense. 
 
 They were now alone in a cosy bower by the 
 river side. The first time they were thrown to- 
 gether in that way. So their talk soon led to love. 
 What more appropriate subject could they discuss 
 on such a scene and at such a time? She occas- 
 ionally glanced up in his face with those soft mild 
 eyes. 
 
 He commenced to tell her how he had fell in 
 love with her the moment he saw her; and how, 
 if she would be his wife, he would have no object 
 in life but to make the world a paradise for her 
 the world wherein he lived would be for her alone. 
 
 He was about to tell her how his thoughts had 
 been averted from her by the dark enchantress of 
 the plains, but all he really wanted in this world 
 was her mild, soothing love; her life mingled 
 with his. 
 
 I say he commenced to pour out his love, but, 
 like the impulsive creature that he was, he had 
 never reached the point where he was to ask her 
 to become his wife. Being lately so worked up 
 by passion, he grabbed her in his arms, drew her 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 61 
 
 rapturously to his breast and showered kiss after 
 kiss on her lips. 
 
 That power of resistance, so commendable in 
 preachers and virgins, never was his fort; and 
 the passion so lately aroused and suffered to wear 
 itself out, was now raging stronger than ever. 
 His soul was on fire, and nothing outside of satis- 
 faction would quench it. 
 
 I am sorry to note such traits in my hero, 
 especially the lack of resistance and the efforts to 
 break down resistance in others, but I cannot help 
 it. I started in to write this man's history and I 
 must take it as it comes, if it kills me. I said I 
 was writing Lives, like my friend, Plutarch, and 
 intended, if these lives came out all right, to tackle 
 the "Lives of the Saints." But here I am with a 
 very aggressive life on my hands. If he keeps on 
 getting worse I will have to shirk all responsi- 
 bility for bis actions. 
 
 Anyway, he was now hardly responsible for his 
 actions himself, and was trying to force her into 
 the same happy (or silly) condition. 
 
 But she managed to free herself; her feelings 
 (if nothing else) were outraged; and when she 
 met the terrible fire in his eyes she was half 
 frightened to death. She tore herself from his 
 
 14 
 
62 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 grasp and jumped back, gave one bound and 
 
 Heavens ! 
 
 They had been standing right at the edge of a 
 cliff, overlooking a deep pool in the river the 
 thick vines hindered her from seeing where she 
 was going only one piercing scream came from 
 her lips as she went down through space. 
 
 He was too terrified to do anything but stand 
 panting on the bank and gazing in the water. 
 
 She had carried the broken vines with her and 
 a few green leaves and pink flowers were floating 
 peacefully on the surface she had disappeared. 
 
 He looked on in silence, and noticed all the de- 
 tails of how she went down to the deep. The 
 cliff projected out and she never touched a thing 
 till she struck the water. 
 
 "Are there some Fatality above me," he cried, 
 "that interferes with all my joys and happi- 
 ness?" And his voice sounded like the heart- 
 rending wail of some wounded-unto-death wild 
 beast. "Well, I will fight that Fate to the bitter 
 end!" And he plunged into the river bounded 
 around in the water and finally saw her long 
 hair rise to the surface. He grabbed hold of it 
 and struggled to the shore with his drowned 
 load. 
 
 Was she drewned? 
 
 "Poor, dear, sweet girl," he muttered. 
 
 He felt her heart, which seemed to be 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 63 
 
 forever stilled. Her beautiful hair lay on her 
 white, marble breast, and looked as though it had 
 been combed out by the hands of angels; and the 
 drops of water sparkled among the ringlets like 
 diamonds in a bridal veil. 
 
 He noticed all this in a few seconds, but it 
 seemed to be several years. 
 
 He tried every application he had ever heard of 
 to resuscitate her, but all seemed in vain. 
 
 He threw himself on the ground and groaned 
 aloud. His feelings were something dreadful 
 a murderer a prisoner an outcast! He was 
 afraid to think what he was. Then he gathered 
 her up in his arms and pressed his lips to hers 
 again and again. He tried to kiss new life in her, 
 and someway succeeded, for the fleeting breath 
 returned and her bosona rose and fell once more. 
 
 She had been stunned by the fall on the water 
 but had very cleverly clenched her teeth and 
 swollowed very little of it. So when she came to 
 from the shock, or faint, she was really very little 
 injured, only had received a thorough wetting and 
 a severe shaking up. 
 
 When she was able to sit up, and say she waa 
 not hurt a particle, as she did, he went almost 
 wild with delight. He tried to embrace her 
 again, and talked all sorts of silly nonsense 
 
64 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 blamed himself but she wanted no consolation, 
 and seemed to be very grave and serious. 
 
 So they started for home without any more cere- 
 mony, and as they threaded their way through the 
 woods, he could not help thinking, "why did she 
 tear herself away ?" That tearing away was fatal 
 to them both. He felt it just as certain as life, 
 and by the looks of her face, she must have felt it 
 to. 
 
 Had she not torn herself away so abruptly they 
 would, in all probability, have been bound to- 
 gether for life. He was not the kind of a man to 
 impose on a woman's good nature. He had never 
 violated the confidence of either man or woman, 
 and considered those who do the most dispicable 
 on earth. But this was to be the termination 
 of their day's "outing." 
 
 A little act is often momentous, and some times 
 extends into eternity. 
 
 As they plodded along on their homeward 
 journey they came to a little ravine. As they 
 went down the slope they noticed an object stick- 
 ing up in the underbrush ahead of them which 
 looked like an elbow. The chaparral was waving 
 her green leaves over it, and the blades of grass 
 and flowers were dancing merrily around. The 
 foliage was being pressed with something imbued 
 with animal life. 
 
 "Why, that cannot be the branches of a tree?" 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 65 
 
 said Mr. Bynington, drawing hit companion's at- 
 tention to it. 
 
 "No," said she, "it is alive." And they walked 
 on down to the place. 
 
 When they reached the spot they found Mr. 
 Landers chatting with a young lady, who was 
 gathering flowers in the shrubbery near by. They 
 did not see her face, it was hidden by the leaves. 
 The two seemed to be enjoying themselves, so Mr. 
 Bynington and companion did not disturb them, 
 but turned away and climbed the hill on the other 
 side. 
 
 "I will wager that Mr. Landers' sweetheart 
 would not jump in the river," said Mr. Bynington, 
 when they had reached a safe distance. 
 
 "It would be better to jump in the river than 
 be ashore with your kind," answered his com- 
 panion. 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Lander* is learning to play on 
 leaves of grass," he continued, "or the rnysteriea 
 of the Houri dance." 
 
 But the fair Lillian made no reply, so he re- 
 marked: "This has been an eventful day, and 
 will be rernembere-l by all of us." 
 
 Then they trudged along the rest of the way in 
 silence. She did n >fc lo >k much the worse for the 
 plunge in the river; only her wet garments clung 
 to her limbs and showed up to more advantage 
 lovely, graceful form. 
 if 
 
66 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 When they reached the hotel she declared she 
 would never speak to him again, and bolted in a 
 side door and out of sight. 
 
 As Bynington lay tossing feverishly around on 
 his bed that night one might think ho was re- 
 penting his past sins and seeking absolution for 
 the future, but he was not. He was suffering the 
 pangs of love unsatisfied, and was complaining 
 bitterly because fate or circumstances, or whatever 
 you might call it, was conspiring against him, and 
 why the women he adored were always slipping 
 from his grasp just as he extended his arms to 
 them the women he would do so much for. 
 
 "Because I dearly love thee so, 
 
 Why wilt thou still refuse me, love? 
 
 On thee I'd all the world bestow 
 
 If thou wouldst let me hug thee, love." 
 
 He murmured in his delirium. 
 
 As he lay there half asleep and half conscious, 
 his mother appeared to him in a vision, and in 
 place of upbraiding him for trying to make un- 
 hallowed love with members of her sex (as he had 
 reasons to expect if present in the flesh) she sym- 
 pathized with him and tried to sooth his aching 
 heart. She blamed the unfeeling women who 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 67 
 
 tormented her sorrowing boy, and in the cool 
 touch of her aerial presence he fell asleep. 
 
 He thought over that many times afterward, 
 why his mother, who had lived a good, innocent, 
 upright life, should come to him at such a time, 
 and chide those who he imagined had done him 
 wrong. She seemed to demonstrate to him that 
 man was the weaker sex and woman his tormentor. 
 Being as this is a bit of unexplainable philosophy 
 to me, I give it to the reader for what it is worth; 
 not caring to prejudice hi, or her, mind on the 
 subject one way or the other. 
 
 A few days after the above occurrences Miss 
 Hortense departed for home in San Francisco, and 
 those who saw her go aboard the train noticed 
 that there was something the matter with her dis- 
 position, her health, or both. 
 
 What had happened? They never knew. 
 
68 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 After the gloom of Miss Hortense's departure 
 had disolved itself in the light air of Castle Crag 
 and Bynington had began to resign himself to the 
 possibility of existing in her absence, he allowed 
 his old fondness for the spouse of Mr. Aregave 
 to creep into his breast again, and every time he 
 looked upon her bewitching face he swore in his 
 inward conscience that he never loved a mortal 
 before but her, and never would love anyone else 
 again, and if he never could get a chance to pro- 
 claim his devotion he would go down to his grave 
 admiring her memory as Don Quixote did that of 
 his lady Dulcinea del Toboso. Mrs. Aregave was 
 a sun around which all planets revolve. 
 
 One night there was a happy group of youthful 
 lovers sitting and lounging around the veranda of 
 the tavern, watching the lightning play the most 
 fantastic pranks on the jagged peaks of Castle 
 Crags. The night was closed in pitchy darkness, 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 69 
 
 and the only thing visible was the top of the 
 Crags when the chain of red and yellow fire 
 would dance up and down the deep crevices. 
 Once in a while it would flash out and light up 
 the scene where the watchers stood. The 
 weather was comfortably warm, and they were 
 a very contented group watching the awe-inspir- 
 ing fire from heaven and the occasional flash of 
 their companion's eyes to see if they revealed any 
 of the warm, soft feeling of the heart. 
 
 The Crags from the tavern show up like sharp 
 irregular spires piercing the blue heavens. On 
 this occasion the lightning had taken control of 
 the mountains as though it was handled by a 
 troop of weird witches. Sometimes it would 
 seem to be playing around the peaks a*nd weaving 
 a web from one jagged spire to another like a 
 spider fastening his gofcisainer threads to the pipes 
 of a church organ. It would again circle around 
 the lofty dome and crown it with a diadem of 
 golden fire; then it would take a zig-zag shoot 
 down into the inky blackness of some deep crevice, 
 scattering the gloom before it, and then it would 
 go out with a flash, leaving the whole scene in 
 suppressed darkness. 
 
 The watchers would cuddle together in solemn 
 silence 
 
 With a flash the whole rugged peak would 
 again be wrapped up in a blaze of glory. The 
 
 16 
 
70 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 rays darted down like golden ribbons lighting up 
 the precipitous gorges, wooded mountains and 
 river canyon, three or four miles below, and 
 carried across to illuminate the veranda and min- 
 gle with the fire in the lover's eyes. 
 
 Again and again it repeated the beautiful phe- 
 nomena the lovers becoming more deeply inter- 
 ested and inspired. As the weird lightning in- 
 creased they clung closer together, as the sublim- 
 ity of the scene made each mortal more in sym- 
 pathy with his fellow being. 
 
 To clasp a fair hand or draw a tender form to 
 his breast was the first thought of Ben Bynington. 
 
 Those thoughts always come to him whenever 
 he was in the presence of death, danger, or over- 
 whelmed by the wonderful works of mother na- 
 ture. On this occasion his soul was filled with 
 love for his fellow being, and for Nina Aregave 
 particularly. 
 
 The feeling may have been more or less recip- 
 rocated, as her thoughts walked on the zig-zag of 
 the firey spheres. She was gliding over the sur- 
 face of the lightning from peak to peak, and danc- 
 ing on its emotional currents, like a fairy on a 
 rainbow. As she whirled around she imagined 
 Bynington was stretching out his hand to her; 
 she lost her balance and flung herself from the 
 dizy wreath of light into his out-stretched arms 
 the next flash set the whole peak in a crazy- war- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 71 
 
 ing flutter the first thing she knew she was 
 wrapped in his arms indeed. 
 
 Trembling like a leaf! 
 
 Darkness for a moment! 
 
 The next flash lit up the whole veranda only 
 a few excited lovers there she fled after receiv- 
 ing one delightful squeeze and took refuge bv 
 Cloyd Landers, whom one of the Ashland sisters 
 had just deserted after being in pretty nearly the 
 same kind of a delightful tangle. 
 
 Landers commenced playing with her at once as 
 an antidote for the serious affairs just enacted. 
 He caught hold of her hand and was pretty near 
 in the act of putting his arm around her waist, 
 when a sudden flash of lightning which was still 
 dancing around the top of the distant peaks lit 
 up the scene, and Mr. Aregave (who had just 
 heard the rustling of silken skirts on the outside, 
 and suppressed murmurs, had stepped outside to 
 reconnoiter) beheld his wife in the arms of a 
 sprout of a San Francisco millionaire, who seemed 
 to be in the act of taking great liberties with 
 her. 
 
 The old gentleman jumped straight up and 
 down rubbed his hands and roared in his wrath. 
 
 The party of lightning watchers scattered in a 
 hurry. 
 
 Mrs. Aregave vanished to her rooms. 
 
 Mr. Landers bolted for the clubhouse where 
 
72 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 he bathed his sorrows in gin. He was soon joined 
 by Mr, Bynington. They associated themselves 
 with other convivial souls who were leisurely 
 partaking of mixed drinks through straws, and 
 with songs and stories, cards and wine, they 
 passed the remainder of the night, trying to kill 
 their sorrows, which were at the bottom partly 
 joys and their joys which were beclouded with 
 an everpresent sorrow. 
 
 Mr. Landers was carried to his room while the 
 haze of night was still hovering over the moun- 
 tains, and he was doubled and twisted all out of 
 shape and had as many squirms to him as an eel. 
 
 Bynington navigated his own corporealness to 
 bis chamber and endeavored to sleep off his jag. 
 
 He awoke the next day feeling a little mean, 
 but after taking a good spunging with ice cold 
 water and a crash towel rub, and exercising his 
 lungs with heavy breathing, he entered upon the 
 routine of the day looking a very little the worse 
 for the wear, 
 
 His friend Landers was dead to the world, till 
 he heard that the Aregave's were packing up to 
 leave the hotel that day. 
 
 "What? This day?" he plaintively cried when 
 he heard the news in the office. "Thunder and 
 lightning, what is the matter ?" 
 
 "That is just what the matter is," winked the 
 knowing clerk. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 73 
 
 "What ?" cried Landers. 
 
 "Too much thunder and lightning," responded 
 the clerk archly. 
 
 And the young ladies present laughed and 
 gig$ led to each other, as they started off for a ride 
 up the canyon. 
 
 Neither Bynington or Landers had any more to 
 say that day their jaws fell. 
 
 Bynington went out and propped his back up 
 against a tree and suffered the pangs of heart- 
 ache alone, ay had been his wont from a little 
 boy. 
 
 Many a struggle he had had with that heart the 
 hardest of all struggles teaching it to endure de- 
 feat, and to resign the only object it loved. 
 
 What are the pangs of our worldly, every day 
 affairs compared with this? Were every dollar 
 and every thing we possessed in the world gone 
 to the dogs we could struggle among our 
 fellow men and find more; but what can bring us 
 back that love for which we pine, when it is gone 
 from us forever '? 
 
 O, the heart-aches and misery that we cannot 
 kill! 
 
 Heavens be merciful unto us all ! 
 
 The Aregave's went away in a sulky mood with- 
 out bidding any of their friends good-bye. 
 
 17 
 
74 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 Of course this was an occasion for Landers to go 
 over to the clubhouse again and soak himself in 
 spirituous and malt liquors. He kept it up until 
 the doctors said it was affecting his heart. Thus 
 contracting one heart trouble to counteract 
 another. That was really robbing Peter to pay 
 Paul. 
 
 The dear old happy days never returned to our 
 friends at the tavern that season. The light 
 and happiness had gone out forever. In fact 
 everything seemed to keep going from bad to 
 worse. 
 
 The two Misses Ashland and their mamma re- 
 mained. Mr. Landers had been turning his affec- 
 tion to one of these, and Bynington tried to make a 
 sister of the other, to see if it would fill the void 
 in his heart, which troubled him night and day, 
 and haunted him in sleep. 
 
 These two ladies were cultivated daughters of 
 one of California's magnates, prominent in the 
 social swim and one was rather attractive. The 
 other was homely as sin this was the one Byn- 
 ington was trying to make a sister of I cannot 
 admire his taste. 
 
 The season was changing, and the time was 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 75 
 
 corning when it was comfortable to draw into the 
 house. 
 
 Night had settled over the landscape, and a 
 slight mountain chill swept down from the vicin- 
 ity of Mt. Shasta. All the voices were hushed on 
 the broad veranda, and in one of the large parlors 
 four of the guests were enjoying a quiet game of 
 whist. 
 
 They played on and on through the long even- 
 ing till the halls and parlors were quite deserted. 
 The curtains were all closely drawn and peace and 
 quiet reigned supreme. 
 
 The personnel of the game were the two 
 Misses Ashland, Mr. Bynington and Mr. Landers. 
 The young ladies were being chaperoned that sum- 
 mer by their mamma, but at this time that good 
 lady was slumbering in the far off annex and her 
 two daughters were entertaining our friends in a 
 sociable game. 
 
 Mr. Landers and Miss Alice, who have been 
 more than sociable on several occasions of late, 
 sat opposite each other as partners in the game. 
 The play was waning and the players were becom- 
 ing more absorbed in one another than in the 
 game. Especially was this the case between Alice 
 and Landers, and as they could do no love-making 
 while fenced off by a man and woman on either 
 side and a heavy table between, they began to 
 
76 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 display the antics of two beings who must either 
 make love or fight. 
 
 I don't know whether the reader has ever seen 
 two people under just such conditions or not. 
 
 She was growing impulsive and peevish, and 
 finally accused her partner of being a dunce. 
 
 "I would rather have a doll baby to play with 
 than you," she said. 
 
 "Oh, ho, you crazy thing, I have won every 
 point in the game," he replied. 
 
 "You do not know a point when you see it," 
 returned the maiden, throwing her cards down 011 
 the table. 
 
 "I know this," said he, catching hold of her 
 hand and drawing her toward him. 
 
 She gathered up a handful of cards and threw 
 them in his face, when he released her hand. 
 
 Then she jumped up while he was leaning over 
 the table, and putting both hands on top his head, 
 pressed his face down among the scattered paste- 
 boards. She was itching for mischief, and 
 evidently got it, for when she relieved him and 
 ran from the room he followed her. 
 
 The halls were dark, excepting a few electric 
 bulbs left burning m a recess here and there. 
 The guests had all retired and the night clerk was 
 dozing in the office. 
 
 She ran along through the carpeted halls, up a 
 flight of stairs and over into the annex, closely 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 77 
 
 followed by Mr. Landers. She supposed he would 
 quit the chase when she dodged in her private 
 chamber, next to that of her mamma's. 
 
 She vanished in the room as soon as she turned 
 the corner of the hall, and he had the wonderful 
 nerve to chase around the corner a few yards be- 
 hind and follow her in. I am backward about re- 
 cording this, but I am compelled to be true to my 
 history, while entirely dumbfounded by the 
 transpacificcoast gall of young Landers. 
 
 The chamber into which Landers bolted was 
 wrapped in darkness, save for the dim light that 
 floated in through the transom and closely cur- 
 tained windows. 
 
 He saw the outlines of the white form for which 
 he chased standing by her couch, and, panting 
 like a hound after a hare, had the audacity (dare 
 I state it?) to rush up and throw both his arms 
 rapturously around her person. 
 
 The other two players sat in the parlor looking 
 at each other. It was evident that the game had 
 broken up in a row. They waited for the pair to 
 return, but stillness had settled down in the estab- 
 lishment. 
 
 But they had not long to wait before dreadful 
 shrieks^of 
 
 "Murder!" 
 
 ''Burglars 1" 
 is 
 
78 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 "Robbers!" 
 
 "Cutthroats!" 
 
 "Horse thieves!" 
 
 "Desperadoes!" 
 
 came from many throats in the distant wing, 
 called the annex. 
 
 Bynington ran through the halls in that direc- 
 tion, falling over ghostly figures that were run- 
 ning out of every room. 
 
 Young damsels, scared out of their depart- 
 ments, had blockaded the way, with their hair 
 hanging down their backs and the sweet in- 
 cense of slumber still surrounding their charms. 
 In fact some of them had very little else around 
 them. 
 
 All the clerks, porters and watchmen were set 
 scurrying the hotel, but not a robber or horse- 
 thief could they find. 
 
 It took sometime to find out where all the rum- 
 pus started, but the Misses Ashland finally located 
 it in the chamber of their mamma. The lady heard 
 some villain come into her room just as she was 
 in the act of retiring, and before she had^ time to 
 cry out, was suddenly seized by the scoundrel, 
 who might have been intending to strangle her, 
 for all she knew but with remarkable fore- 
 thought and cool determination for a lady of her 
 years and sedate habits, she brought both of her 
 plump arms up under his chin and sent him reel- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 79 
 
 ing across the room. She then screamed and he 
 vanished through the window and out on the 
 veranda, while she fell back exhausted. 
 
 "Oh, it was terrible!" the lady said. 
 
 Her daughter Alice came rushing in to her 
 assistance, but the latter could not see the robber- 
 hugger "atal' atal'," and tried to persuade her 
 mamma that she was only dreaming and had cried 
 out in her sleep, which made the old lady feel 
 worse than being hugged. 
 
 "I know better than that, you silly child!" de- 
 clared her mamma. "For heavens to think of 
 it he had his arms clear around me!" 
 
 "Now, you know he couldn't, mamma, because 
 you weigh about three hundred pounds, and no 
 man could reach so far?" 
 
 "You impertinent child, go off to bed!" re- 
 turned her forebearer, angered at the insinuations 
 about her avoirdupois. "Just think he might 
 have gone in your room, and that would have 
 been awful!" 
 
 "Wouldn't it though ! to be caught in such a 
 pair of arms." 
 
 There was nothing discussed the next day but 
 the robbery, or attempted robbery, and the facts 
 of the matter were never clearly explained. 
 
80 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 Mr. Landers renewed his engagement at the 
 clubhouse on that date and steeped his carcass in 
 the strongest alcoholic beverages to be found 
 there. He just loaded his system up to the hide 
 in strong drinks and red wine till he saw the club- 
 house get up and float down the river with the 
 trees and the rocks and the crags dancing around 
 it. Then little imps rose up out of the stream 
 and others came down from the peaks to fight 
 over him. 
 
 He was put to bed for a high fever, and as 
 soon as he was able to travel the doctors shipped 
 him off to his parents in the city 
 
 Bynington went away too, but he returned. 
 He renewed his brotherly affections for the Ash- 
 land sisters, but on cultivating their acquaintance 
 he found that their tastes and ambitions were dif- 
 ferent from his. They had a veneration of wealth 
 and aristocracy which did not agree with his dem- 
 ocratic, bohemian notions at all. So he could not 
 help contrasting them with the sweet Miss Hor- 
 tense. He would lay down in the shade of a tree 
 and dream of her of her pretty mild face and 
 graceful form. It was the only soothing balm 
 then in his existence, to think of her and her 
 pretty mild eyes, as he had seen her stretched 
 out on the green sward, or reclining on the comb 
 of the poarch resting her chin in her hands, her 
 form laying carelessly along and her gray eyes 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 81 
 
 looking calmly at the hills and trees. She was a 
 picture to attract most any living mortal. 
 
 But, alas ! he was only dreaming. She had 
 gone, and he had not the courage to follow her and 
 try to win her love, which was really a jewel, 
 worthy the affections of any American citizen, or 
 foreign king. 
 
 He saw all this when she was gone, and longed 
 to fly away south with the birds and throw him- 
 self at her feet, but he was afraid of the recep- 
 tion that might be accorded him. He imagined 
 her surrounded by wealthy admirers at the Bay and 
 would probably not entertain advances from him 
 anyway, after what had happened, and now that 
 she had returned to her people. Why should 
 she, when there surely must be plenty far more 
 prepossessing men than he ready to throw their 
 hearts and fortunes at her feet ? While he was 
 nothing, anyway, but a piece of drift-wood on the 
 verge of creation, pelted about by every tide. 
 
 But, had he only known it, he had created the 
 most lasting impression in the mind of Miss Hor- 
 tense. She was young then and her heart was 
 soft like the mud, or littoral deposits at the bot- 
 tom of a disiccated inland pond during a period 
 of transition bt-tween the Jurassic and the Cretac- 
 eous ages, that received the impressions of the trees 
 and ferns along the shore. So that in after cen- 
 turies when those littoral deposits have become 
 
 19 
 
82 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 solid rock you may break it where you will and 
 the shadow of those trees and ferns are inwoven 
 in its core in every conceivable direction. Even 
 so was her heart with the shadow of Ben Byning- 
 ton, though her short sad life did not give it time 
 to harden. His brilliant, reckless nature had 
 quite captivated her fancy, and it was ail to end 
 in a sad tragedy. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 83 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 While Bynington was cultivating the friendship 
 of the Ashland sisters, dreaming of Miss Hortense 
 and debating in his mind whether to stay or fly to 
 some other clirne, the trains were bringing up to 
 the tavern new faces every day. 
 
 As the personnel at a summer resort is under- 
 going a continuous change. Some of these new 
 arrivals considered themselves the smarter of the 
 smarter set some of them too smart for anything 
 knew it all and more to. They were really the 
 exclusive of the exclusive (in their own minds). 
 Everybody outside of their circle was nadie, and 
 should be dumped in the river, or fed to the fishes. 
 
 They had heard of the world-famous dramas 
 which had been given at the tavern, as well as the 
 beauty of Nina Aregave and the talents of Ben 
 Bynington, and of several other things which had 
 happened, and others that had not happened. 
 The renown of all these had floated down to the 
 Bay and caused a ripple in society circles there. 
 
84 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 So, of course, the new corners must have dramas, 
 operas, mysterious excursions and so on. 
 
 The}'' arranged to put a dramma on the boards 
 one night, and fixed up a stage in one of the halls 
 leading from the office for that purpose. The 
 stage was pretty and luxurous. The curtains be- 
 ing of rich tapestry, imported from Persia, Tur- 
 key or Ind by the family of some man who had 
 made millions developing the resources of the Pa- 
 cific Coast. Everything else was grand in pro- 
 portion, which I will not bother describing here. 
 
 The promoters invited Mr. Bynington to take 
 a part, and he was requested to select a portion of 
 Shakespeare's grand-stand-play, Julius Caesar. 
 
 Mr. Bynington at the time was not in a very 
 agreeable mood, and bseides he did not have a 
 very exalted opinion of some of the ultra-ultra 
 guests, who were aping to such an extent that 
 they were killing off the vegitation of the Sierras 
 with their agony. 
 
 He had an idea that some of those fashionable 
 people who were displaying royal crests, and talk- 
 ing of marrying their daughters to foreign dukes 
 and lords did not spring from the notable ancestry 
 they boasted of. And in fact he was heard to re- 
 mark that their mothers had put in many days 
 over the washtub, while their fathers were proba- 
 bly scouring the town with old T D pipes in their 
 mouths, looking up baby napkins and miners' 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 85 
 
 underwear for their better halves to exercise their 
 charms over. 
 
 This kind of talk helped to widen the breach 
 between them. So he came before the footlights 
 that night as though he was going to a sawmill. 
 It was noticed that he paid no attention to his 
 toilet, and of course in that audience they thought 
 more about their dress than anything which 
 might come from the mind. Two dressy young 
 dudes commenced to make fun of him before he 
 had time to speak. 
 
 "Yes, he will make us tired," said one. 
 
 "Give us your latest hippodrome from Julius 
 Csesar," said the other. 
 
 He took in the situation at a glance, and caring 
 nothing for the appreciation of this audience, 
 started in with: 
 
 " 'Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres, quarum 
 unam incolunt Belgae, aliam Aquitani, tertiam qui 
 ipsorum lingua Celtae, nostra Galli appellantur. 
 Hi omnes lingua, institutis, legibus inter se dif- 
 ferunt. Gallos ab Aquitanis Garumna flumen, a 
 Belgis Matrona et sequana dividit. Horum 
 omnium fortissimi sunt Belgae, propterea quod a 
 cultu atque humanitate ' " 
 
 "Let up with your French!" shouted the two 
 young dudes, interrupting the speaker. 
 
 And the stylish audience became dreadfully in 
 earnest at once and very indignant. The most 
 
 20 
 
86 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 ignorant of them had to give themselves away 
 with the two dudes, and broke in with, "you 
 need not be exercising your French on us to show 
 how well educated you are." 
 
 One of the dudes made answer, "No indeed. 
 I have studied French in the quartier latin, Paris, 
 myself." 
 
 And nobody groaned at his illimitable gall. 
 
 Even one of the elderly matrons lacked sense 
 enough to keep her mouth shut on such an im- 
 portant occasion. She was a buxom old lady, who 
 had known a great deal more about the washtub 
 and the formation of suds in her younger days 
 than the forms of language, but who was now well 
 dressed, well fed, fat and rich, with great diamonds 
 sparkling from her plump old fingers and vulgar 
 throat. She had the hardihood to squeal out, 
 "Don't you be trying any of your French airs on 
 us'ns!" 
 
 "French! Who is talking French?" asked 
 our hero, surprised. 
 
 "You requested a selection from Julius Caesar, 
 and I gave you the commencement of Caesar's 
 Gallic Wars, written by himself." 
 
 The house caught the turn of the tide and 
 roared. The two dudes thought best to slink out 
 of the audience. 
 
 When quiet was restored Bynington left the 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 87 
 
 stage with: "'Render therefore unto Caesar the 
 things which are Caesar's; and unto God the 
 things that are God's.' " 
 
 They had hurt his sensitive nature, and when 
 any wound was made in his feelings it was very 
 difficult to heal. The spell of friendship once 
 broken would never unite again. 
 
 He had no inclination to associate any longer 
 with that set and departed for San Francisco, with 
 a probable intention of trying his fortunes with 
 Miss Hortense, the more honorable part of his 
 twin loves. 
 
 He had heard a rumor that she was sick, but he 
 would go to the city and give her his heart and 
 soul, if she would have it. 
 
 When he reached the city he heard she was 
 dead. The blow fell on him like a thunderbolt 
 out of a clear sky. It stunned him as though he 
 was being crushed by a tremendous rock-crusher 
 that was stamping out every fiber of life. 
 
 With a kind of a dull, half conscious movement 
 he left his hotel and started for her home. 
 
 After walking about a block on Market street 
 he hailed a carriage and ordered the driver to 
 drive him to street. He stopped a few num- 
 bers away from the right one, dismissed the con- 
 veyance and walked up to the fine rock mansion. 
 
 But his nerves were unstrung. He could not 
 go in and see her people. Doubtful of the recep- 
 tion awaiting him, anyway. 
 
88 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 That gray pile of rock looked too cold and for- 
 bidding the fogs and the winds from the Golden 
 Gate had been beating against it for years he 
 dare dot let his thoughts go any further than the 
 walls of the building. 
 
 So he walked up and down the block a few 
 times to brace his nerves. 
 
 Finally he mustered up courage and walked 
 firmly up the steps and rang the bell. 
 
 A maid come to the door, and ushered him into 
 the reception room, after a few questions, and 
 after taking his card to be delivered to Mrs. 
 Hortense. 
 
 As he sat in the room, his senses keenly alive to 
 every sound, he cast his eyes around the depart- 
 ment and noticed that it was fitted up in a refiner! 
 luxury. He knew that some delicate, artistic 
 hand presided over that house, and began to won- 
 der if it was not the hand of her forever stilled 
 who was the presiding genius of the place. The 
 picture of a man looked down upon him from the 
 wall. It was the strong visage of one of the men 
 who had shaped the destiny of California. He 
 new b} r the resemblance that it was the father, 
 who had nothing now left on this earth but his 
 shadow in a frame on the wall. His eyes were 
 drawn from this to the shadow of another. There 
 there were those mild eyes looking down on 
 him. Sweet, dear girl in all her beauty. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 89 
 
 The picture had the power to draw him to it. 
 A calm, mystic sensation was thrown around him. 
 She seemed to be with him in the wild woods, or 
 at some still old church or mission on a calm Sun- 
 day afternoon, and he was conscious of a smell of 
 myrrh and sandalwood. He might be taking her 
 hand at a wedding the thoughts of a wedding 
 if he could only clasp that hand again ! 
 
 As the thoughts of what might have happened, 
 flooded his mind, his feelings softened and the 
 tears were very near breaking through the foun- 
 tains of light. 
 
 A tall, graceful, refined woman, with a few silver 
 threads in her hair, glided softly into the room 
 before he was aware and extended a pretty little 
 hand to him. 
 
 He arose and returned the greeting, and as he 
 looked in her eyes, she noticed the pathetic, melt- 
 ing look in his took out her handkerchief and 
 sobbed piteously. 
 
 They sat there fifteen or twenty minutes, both 
 sad and distressed. 
 
 She told all about the end and there was no 
 blame whatever laid to him though he could not 
 help thinking himself guilty. 
 
 "I knew that her death was really caused by a 
 tragedy," went on this mother, who really looked 
 as though she might be Lillian grown old. "She 
 caught cold in the mountains." 
 
 21 
 
90 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 "Did she speak of me ?" he finally ventured to 
 ask. 
 
 "Oh yes! She said that you. was on the river 
 bank with her when she fell through the thick 
 foliage that hid the precipice and river. And 
 I could tell you lots besides. 
 
 "She loved you! 
 
 "She died with your name on her lips. 
 
 "'Save me, Bynington!' were the last words 
 uttered, as she sank into forgetfulness. 
 
 "Oh! oh!! oh!!! Lillian! Lillian!! Lillian!!! 
 my child! my child!!" 
 
 The cries of this mother would break anyone's 
 heart and Bynington felt himself to be the 
 meanest man on earth. He had been afraid that 
 he would be blamed, and now, he wished that all 
 the blame could be put on him. He never real- 
 ized his selfishness so strongly as at this time. 
 
 * 'Would to God that I could have died for her," 
 were the thoughts that crowded his mind, but he 
 felt too bad to utter them. 
 
 Had he been the cause of all this sorrow, and 
 responsible for the death of the noblest girl he 
 ever met in his life ? To think over it would 
 kill him. He could not find strength to say one 
 word. But sat and listened to the poor mother's 
 sobs. 
 
 "I must leave you now, dear Mrs. Hortense ! " 
 he finally cried, with a longing to be alone in the 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 91 
 
 open air. "I cannot hear any more, believe me ! 
 If I could only give my life for hers. But it is 
 too late ! too late ! I am a wretch ! 
 
 "May heaven always protect you." 
 
 He kissed ner hand, while she held the hand- 
 kerchief to her face, and his lips touched her 
 cheek. That touch on the cheek seemed to be to 
 him in after life a benediction. 
 
 He hurried from the house and out into the 
 sharp sea-tempered air. 
 
 He ran along the street for an hour and a half. 
 Not knowing where he was going, or not caring, 
 just so he kept moving kept down the feeling 
 that was tearing at his heart. 
 
 When he became exhausted, and found himself 
 alone in the dark street for it was night he 
 hunted up a street which cars ran on, and, as all 
 roads lead to Rome, so all street cars in San 
 Francisco lead down Market street and to the 
 big hotels. 
 
 He at last found himself in his room, closed the 
 door and tossed his exhausted form upon the 
 bed. 
 
 "Lillian ! Lillian ! ! Lillian ! ! !" 
 
 "O, my head ! my head ! ! Hold my head to keep 
 it from splitting!" 
 
 .: 
 
92 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 And he probably would have gone crazy, only 
 the tears were always near his eyes a weakness 
 inherited from his mother and they broke loose 
 now and flowed in torrents. 
 
 He cried like a child, only so much more pite- 
 ously. A strong heart was breaking, in prefer- 
 ence to being turned into that of a lunatic. 
 
 "Father redeem this bitter cup, if thus thy 
 sacred will!" 
 
 After a few hours struggle with himself his 
 sorrow was greatly assuaged. 
 
 He had outlived tragedies before, bat none so 
 pathetic as this one. To think that the only 
 known person who might share the sunshine of 
 life with him might be a life companion through 
 joys and sorrows had really faded from the face 
 of the earth, and left not a vestige of her lovely 
 form. 
 
 How pathetic it is to realize that a loved one 
 has disappeared for the last time. We see her 
 depart in health and strength, not thinking but 
 what we may meet again tomorrow; but through 
 all time, through all eternity, we are never to 
 gaze upon that being again. Never ! never ! 
 never ! 
 
 This scene is growing too sad. If I kept on 
 this way I would have to kill him off. I may 
 have to kill him off yet, or marry him to a widow. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 93 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It was a busy day in the metropolis of the Pa- 
 cific Coast and our hero was seated by ODe of the 
 little tables in the grand court of the leading 
 hotel where he could lean back in the tempered 
 light from the immense lofty glass roof and read 
 the daily papers. The court was surrounded by 
 magnificent lofty columns of fine white marble, 
 faced with glass, and tropical plants and flowers 
 added to the luxury of the scene. He sat there 
 carelessly perusing the big sheets and occasion- 
 ally glancing around at the busy throng who 
 hurried through the corridors of that wonderful 
 caravansary. 
 
 As some fashionable gentlemen went by a young 
 man deviated from the throng and laid his hand 
 on Bynington's shoulder, and making sure who 
 it was embraced him familiarly. 
 
 "Dear old Bynington, you here?" I never ex- 
 pected to see you again." 
 
 22 
 
94 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 And looking up he beheld the jovial counten- 
 ance of Cloyd Landers. 
 
 "Well ! if here isn't the very same Cloyd of the 
 mountains and the glens, the forests and the 
 greenwood springs ! 
 
 "My good angel, I am more than delighted to 
 meet with thee again !" 
 
 And they greeted each other with the affection 
 of two brothers. 
 
 "Be seated, Landers, and let me hear your tale 
 of woe and narrative of conquests," and he 
 pulled one of the chairs around to his companion. 
 
 But Landers declined the proffered seat and de- 
 clared that he must have something to eat before 
 entering on a long conversation with an unseen- 
 friend of many months. 
 
 "Well, then, suppose we adjourn to the Grill 
 Room?" suggested Bynington. 
 
 'The very thing I was about to propose," said 
 Landers, "as I have been running around town 
 and am as hungry as a grizzly." 
 
 Our boon companions departed without further 
 parlance, and seating themselves at one of the 
 tables in that clean, savory-conducted department 
 of San Francisco's greatest caravansary, ordered 
 something grilled. 
 
 I know of no better dining place for a hungry 
 man to sit down to eat in the United States than 
 this same place. Everything is cooked right 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 95 
 
 within one's sight, and the very air seems to coax 
 an appetite. Comfort, luxury and good-cheer are 
 combined iii everything that meets the eye or the 
 senses. 
 
 The diners scattered around at the little tables 
 are more interesting than the surroundings. 
 There can be seen the men who made California 
 (at least could be when the heroes of this narra- 
 tive were there). There are the controllers of the 
 great railroad lines; the Croesus of the huge bank- 
 ing establishments; the bonanza kings from the 
 exhaustless mines of the Pacific Coast, reckless 
 of money and flavored of quartz and gold; the 
 men who "mold public opinion" in the press of 
 the State; and actors and artists of the city and the 
 world. And the } T ounger generation can be seen 
 mingling with the reminents of the stock of forty- 
 nine the offsprings of the wealthy and the bud- 
 ding dudes are all in that historical establishment 
 satisfying their appetites and sipping wine. 
 
 It is a splendid place in which to sit and talk 
 leisurely with a friend, as it is not characterized 
 with the rush of a restaurant, and the furnishings 
 are spotlessly clean it conveys an atmosphere of 
 the wealth of the Golden Gate, and was the 
 biggest undertaking of the days of old, the days 
 of gold and the days of forty-nine. 
 
 Both Bynington and Landers recognized many 
 of the prominent men present (women are barred 
 
96 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 from this department) and exchanged greetings 
 while waiting for their orders to be grilled. 
 
 "I suppose, Landers, you never carry a jag 
 around with you when in San Francisco ?" queried 
 Mr. Bynington, feeling his friend's appetite for 
 liquid refreshments. 
 
 "No, not recently, at least," answered Mr. Lan- 
 ders, "and to tell you something confidentially 
 and of great importance to large interests on this 
 Coast, I am going to be married." And he looked 
 at his companion to see if he was not staggered 
 by the great importance of the disclosure. 
 
 "Good, my boy, the best thing in the world," 
 answered the other without feeling concerned in 
 the least. "But who is the misfortunate crea- 
 ture? I mean the fortunate one?" 
 
 "Miss Ashland." 
 
 "Which the elder and homely one?" 
 
 "No ! you cynic, the very charming Alice the 
 younger of the sisters." 
 
 "It is a pretty sad affair." 
 
 "It will be a grand affair. All the morning pa- 
 pers will devote columns of their space to describ- 
 ing the transaction and adorn the top of the page 
 with our pictures." 
 
 "That will be something elegant indeed. 'Top 
 of column, next to pure reading matter, with no 
 display ads. on either side,' as the advertising 
 agent says." 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 97 
 
 "And it will be such a notable event in society. 
 There are few men in the city considered a bet- 
 ter catch than myself, if I do say it." 
 
 "That's what I say, Landers, old boy. You are 
 a bird, but it isn't everybody who knows it. Is 
 her mamma willing?" 
 
 "I presume so. You know I had a scene with 
 her once." 
 
 "In the room at the hotel ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you was worse scared than she was." 
 
 "When I found I had hold of the wrong per- 
 son, in the wrong room, I was ready to drop." 
 
 "You was afraid she would claw your eyes out." 
 
 "The thoughts of it would drive a man to 
 drink." 
 
 " And it doesn't take a very great force to drive 
 you either. I suppose you are not backward 
 about marrying a girl and dividing up your time 
 between her and the jag?" 
 
 "0 ! I don't intend to marry until I return from 
 the Keeley cure." 
 
 "I see. You will go to one of these places to 
 have the whiskey cured. Then you will have a 
 new poison to mingle with the other. These are 
 poor inheritances to commence a family with. 
 
 23 
 
98 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 They will show up sure as fate all chickens come 
 home to roost, sooner or later." 
 
 "What's the use of being so conscientious about 
 a little thing like that ? I know plenty men who 
 have drunken wives." 
 
 "That's so. But I think you would have a 
 touch of conscientious jar at uniting yourself with 
 a pure young girl after all your little scrapes." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing very serious. You know you 
 have had several little flirtations (to put it mildly) 
 with divers women." 
 
 "All the young men nowadays run indiscrimin- 
 ately with women, and I am no better than the 
 rest of them." 
 
 "And I suppose you demand that the girl you 
 marry be as chaste as a piece of marble, which 
 could not be penetrated with a chisel? (I am not 
 hinting at anything I heard in the Crag 
 country)." 
 
 "Most emphatically I do ! You don't suppose I 
 would marry a girl whom there was one suspicious 
 thought about?" replied Landers, growing vehem- 
 ent at the idea. 
 
 "I see. You are like the great Julius himself 
 'Caesar's wife must be above suspicion' but 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 99 
 
 now, to be plain with you, Mr. Landers, what 
 right have you to associate with desolute women 
 and then demand that the girl you marry be as 
 spotless as the driven snow? (of course I would 
 not say that men are getting fooled on the 'spot- 
 lessness,' question as well as women). The fact that 
 other men do the same is no excuse for you. 
 What business have you with virgins?" 
 
 "I have heard a great deal of nonsense about 
 virgins already. A virgin is principally valuable 
 for what may be expected of her in the future." 
 
 "I thought I was the greatest sinner in the world, 
 but I believe you are worse. If an expression of 
 that kind should get out it would shock the com- 
 munity. The laws of Nature demand a restraint 
 on women, or they suffer " 
 
 "I see. Your 'chickens' again." 
 
 "Chickens coming home are disagreeable things, 
 but depend upon it they will come." 
 
 "Well, what would you advise me to do?" fin- 
 ally asked Landers, quite dejected. 
 
 "Go get thee to a nunnery or, I mean send 
 the girl to a nunnery.'' 
 
 "You think that would be the better plan ?" 
 asked Landers, growing more serious. 
 
 "No ! I know you would not take my advise 
 anyway, and then I am really opposed to anybody 
 going to a nunnery. It is better for a girl to 
 marry moat any kind of a man capable or in- 
 
100 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 capable than to go throw her life awaj r to the 
 idea of chastity, soliciting or dispensing charity* 
 and fingering over her beads. 
 
 " 'The Spaniard, when the lust of sway 
 
 Had lost its quickening spell, 
 Cast crowns for rosaries away, 
 
 An empire for a cell ; 
 Yet better had he neither known 
 A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne,' 
 
 sang Byron, and of course a bigot's shrine is a 
 poor place for anybody. I like chastity, but 
 would rather not see it used in that way." 
 
 "Well, here ! It is not right to make any light 
 remarks about these sisters who enter nunneries. 
 You have been philosophizing to me, and here you 
 are getting more profane than I." 
 
 "I am still philosophizing. I do not believe it 
 is right for a woman to devote her life to the idea 
 of celibacy. To be good is one thing; to be too 
 good is another. Total abstinence of that kind 
 is a crime." 
 
 "Unless a person wishes to live such a life." 
 
 "No. Society has a right to demand certain 
 duties from its members, and none have a right 
 to retire themselves without good cause." 
 
 "Why, part of the Christian population look 
 upon these nuns as being worthy of worship." 
 
 "With due respect for the consideration of these 
 pious people," asserted Bynmgton, warmly, "I must 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 101 
 
 decidedly scout the idea. Because a girl lays aside 
 the natural duties of life and immures herself in a 
 consent, should she become an object of worship? 
 Well, I must candidly tell you she is not the kind 
 of woman man worships. He always has and 
 always will worship his mother (or his lover). 
 Did you ever hear of men going out to the ceme- 
 teries to place flowers upon the graves of dead 
 virgins old or young?" 
 
 'Well, hardly." 
 
 "One of the oldest pictures in the world, and 
 the most beautiful, is the picture of a young 
 mother and her child. There is nothing else to 
 compare with it; it is symbolic of our race. 
 
 "I seriously think that the founders of the 
 Christian religion stole the picture from the 
 ancients and made it a 'Blessed Virgin and Child,' 
 in place of a 'Blessed Mother and her Child' 
 there is no name more holy blessed than that of 
 mother no other memory that will be kept so 
 green no other sentiment as tender or that 
 will outlast the corroding rust of time. 
 
 "Oh mother ! you need no defense of your rep- 
 utation." 
 
 "So you think that the first duty of every 
 woman is to raise a family," said Landers. 
 
 "There is no duty imposed upon a woman in 
 this world that is half as grand as rearing a fam- 
 ily all the priests and ranters between here and 
 
 24 
 
102 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 hades could not convince me to the contrary. Nor 
 the 'new woman/ with her criminal practices of 
 trying to shirk that duty; nor anyother faction 
 who undertakes to frustrate the will of nature 
 For heaven's sake let nature take her course 
 especially in California, where she has so many 
 enemies. 
 
 "No other clime has rear'd a race diffused 
 With elements so grand, nor none abused." 
 
 As usual his conversation had grown so inter- 
 esting that it attracted a crowd, and the two 
 friends saw it become necessary to disappear, or 
 hire a hall, so they vanished. 
 
 They went for a drive through the Park, around 
 the Presidio and the Golden Gate, where they 
 could have a good view of that harbor (one of the 
 grandest in the world) and to which their Bay of 
 Naples (boasted of and written about so much and 
 so often) and other European and Asia estuaries 
 do not begin to compare. The Golden Gate, 
 though not known to fame, or handed down in 
 ancient song and story, is more commanding, and 
 the cliffs are more lofty and picturesque than the 
 Golden Horn, Dardenelles, Cape Sigseum (flanked 
 by the Hellespont and by the sea), where the 
 waves of the Bospborus lash the shores of Eu- 
 rope and Asia, or in fact, than anyother inlet 
 from any ocean we know of. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 103 
 
 Our two friends reined up behind the big guns 
 at the Presidio, which commands the entrance 
 to San Francisco bay, and gazed long at the in- 
 spiring pauarama stretched before them. There 
 were great ships gliding through the silvery 
 Golden Gate to meet the rough swell of the 
 trackless Pacific ocean; others coming in laden 
 with the commerce of Asia, Japan, India, Austra- 
 lia and the islands of the sea; aud in the offing 
 were crafts of sail and steam picking up the 
 wealth of the Coast from Chile to Alaska. The 
 Marin hills and Alcatraz Island were standing out 
 like living sentinels in the distance to warn the 
 bristling guns in case a foe should dare to pass. 
 And the clear atmosphere enabled them to see up 
 the harbor through San Pablo and Suisun Bays 
 for a distance of fifty miles a harbor in which 
 all the commerce of the world could ride 
 at anchor. They pondered thoughtfully over the 
 possibilities that await this great mart in the 
 future, and then resumed their ride around to 
 the Cliff House and Golden Gate Park. And that 
 Park ! why there is not another park on the face 
 of the globe that is capable of making a green 
 spot on its features. Not even the Hesperian 
 Gardens famed of old. California has many big 
 things, but none have baen nourished so assidu- 
 ously as this Park the pride of San Francisco 
 and the State at large. 
 
104 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 Bynington had seen about all the famous Parks 
 of the world, and he contrasted them with this 
 one for the edification of Landers, as they rode 
 around its sheltered glens and elegant drives. 
 
 Landers told him about his coming wedding and 
 his hopes of being first sobered up by the "gold 
 cure." 
 
 "I understand the Aregave's are now cutting a 
 wide swath in New York," said Landers after he 
 tired himself and friend talking of his own 
 affairs. 
 
 "Aj*e they?" asked his companion. 
 
 "Yes. The woman who so fascinated us with 
 a glance is holding the same sway over the female- 
 killing population of the Atlantic Coast. I told 
 you that you loved in vain." 
 
 "I am used to that." 
 
 "Do you know there is something strange 
 about that marriage ? The woman acts as though 
 she had a longing." 
 
 "I did not know that you was such a judge of 
 human nature as that. It is a longing for some- 
 thing lacking." 
 
 "Why? Do you think so too ?" 
 
 "I thoroughly understood the situation from 
 the start." 
 
 "It is a bad way to use a woman." 
 
 "It accounts for some of her actions too." 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 105 
 
 "I think there was something between you and 
 her." 
 
 "No. If she was used right she would be a 
 great woman one of the best in the world." And 
 he sighed deeply. 
 
 Landers noticed the troubled look on his face 
 and made no further remark. 
 
 They dined together at the Cliff and returned 
 to the city under the cover of night. Landers 
 buoyant with the hopes of youth, and what the 
 world and wealth had in store for him (not count- 
 ing the Keeley Cure); Bynington grave and still 
 brooding over his deep sorrow. 
 
A CHANQE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 N San Francisco Bynington found no 
 rest for the soles of his feet, or imag- 
 ined he didn't. The sad memory of the 
 mission which took him there soon 
 hastened his departure, and it was not 
 long until he found himself back in the 
 mountains. He was a wanderer anyway 
 and could easily find an excuse for 
 changing his place of abode, and then, 
 the mountains suited him better than 
 any where else. So, behold, our hero 
 back at a resort where it was supposed 
 
 he had taken his departure for good. 
 
 Through the long and lonely fall Bynington 
 
 haunted his accustomed walks of the summer and 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 107 
 
 dreamed of the dear ones departed. His heart 
 was sore, and sad and miserable were his feelings. 
 He longed to fly away south with the birds 
 and follow those he loved; but where could he 
 go? His love was dead and cold. And sad and 
 solemn were the recollections of it. 
 
 And his other love it was too sad to think of; 
 and, anyway, she had departed for the East with 
 her husband and was well out of harm's way. 
 
 It is the most natural thing in the world for 
 the living to think of the living and gradually for- 
 get the dead, and had the living object of his af- 
 fections been within reach he might have turned 
 to her for sympathy, at this time, but she was not 
 there, and there was nothing within his reach to 
 cling to; so beneath the shadow of the falling 
 leaves Nature taught him to resign. 
 
 He sat down on the mountain side and watched 
 the foliage the turning of the dainty leaves 
 from green to red and brilliant hues. Probably 
 the only case in nature where the touch of death 
 is more beautiful than the bloom of youth. 
 
 In the meantime Mrs. Aregave was taking the 
 fashionable part of New York by storm. She 
 was just the belle of the town fell upon it like a 
 meteor from a clear sky. And what an unprece- 
 
108 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 dented flurry she was cutting in that society, all 
 unintentionally to. The people with whom she 
 came in contact became smitten with her charms 
 especially the masculine portion and had she 
 desired to be a little "speedy" the disturbances in 
 domestic relations would hare been notorious; 
 but as it was the bald-headed hubbys and budding 
 youths only made uninteresting fools of them- 
 selves. She would not entertain any of their ad- 
 vances, and was put down as being "true as 
 steel" to her elderly lord, which was considered to 
 be a virtue worse than a vice in the smart town 
 of Gotham. 
 
 But her short stay there became famous. Her 
 exceptional beauty, winning ways and sweet voice 
 endeared her to all with whom she came in con- 
 tact and many of our New York readers undoubt- 
 edly remember her to this day. The California 
 colony in that metropolis had never produced 
 such a creation before, and those who pre- 
 ceded her from the Pacific Coast with 
 millions looking for a higher society and 
 the latest importation of a foreign nobility, 
 to exchange beauty and gold for a title, 
 were entirely forgotten. She was not only a fad 
 but an object of worship. Many of her admirers 
 urged her to go on the stage, where her beauty 
 and musical talents would win a world-wide repu- 
 tation and undying fame, but she scouted such an 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 109 
 
 idea what did she want of a reputation and a 
 famous name. 
 
 The world and posterity were destined to know 
 of her anyway and perhaps a great deal more 
 than was for her own good. 
 
 The season drew to a close at Castle Crags and 
 Bynington took himself off to one of the little 
 towns in the vicinity, made friends with the na- 
 tives, miners, railroaders, sawmillers, woodchoppers 
 and mountaineers, whom he had not taken the 
 trouble to notice before, but with whom he had 
 now become the best of friends. There was a 
 touch of nature about him that made him kin with 
 all classes just one of Nature's children he was, 
 and nothing more. He found the same fellow- 
 ship with the sawmiller, the woodchopper, the 
 railroader and the country merchant he did with 
 the millionaire, speculator, professional man or 
 man of literature. Of course the woodchoppers, 
 etc., lacked polish; were more of the earth,- 
 earthy, and could only talk about their trade; 
 but that is about all the others could talk about. 
 The men of letters, or the stage, were more of his 
 own kind than any of those others. 
 
 "And there is no class," says du Maurier, "where 
 the welcome is so likely to be so genuine and sin- 
 cere, so easy to win, so difficult to outstay, where 
 the memory of us will be kept so green, as among 
 
 26 
 
110 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 the people of our own calling and profession." 
 And the author of "Trilby" is strictly right in this. 
 Bynington had been partly aware of this truth for 
 a long time himself, though he certainly had never 
 read "Trilby," as those things transpired at the 
 Crags long before the event of that work or its 
 author. But he remembered the pleasant excur- 
 sions he had with literary people, and the delight- 
 ful associations with the Bohemians of the quill 
 and stage in different cities, as the most enjoyable 
 periods of his life. And he had a strong inkling 
 that they would be the truest and most enduring 
 friends he would ever know. Their sympathies 
 were his and so were their aims in life. He had 
 crossed the continent several times with manipu- 
 lators of the quill, when everybody had left their 
 cares at home and were out on a lark, and those 
 were the happiest occasions of all. Each one 
 seemed to act as a stimulant for the other; and 
 while they knew that they would return to their 
 labors with regrets because the picnic was over, 
 they would be sustained and strengthened as 
 never before. 
 
 He remembered, even, that there was a strong 
 kinship between him and the literary women, and 
 the memory of several of those were still cherished 
 in the inner confines of his heart as being his true 
 sisters on a common plane. But the "new 
 woman," with all her arrogance and crowding to 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 111 
 
 the front, did not enter his good graces at all. 
 She was not the kind to win his affections, and a 
 woman who could not arouse the fire of love in 
 him must be a mistaken creation, because he had 
 pretty nearly love enough to take in the whole 
 sex. He believed that woman was born to 
 "minister delight to man, to beautify the earth," 
 and not to be his opponent. 
 
112 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 But our hero Bynington, a man of many climes 
 and skies, now fell into the society of the little 
 town in the mountains, and also into the ways of 
 its inhabitants, just when the fall rains were set- 
 ting in, and amused himself during part of the 
 disagreeable season by playing poker, or indulg- 
 ing in whatever other kind of "elevating" amuse- 
 ment came in his way. He would play any game 
 of cards which the woodchopper, sawmiller, bull- 
 whacker, stagedriver, railroader or merchant 
 would, and he did not always come out loser 
 either. He had played the same game with both 
 millionaire and sharper, and knew they were all 
 frauds. 
 
 In -that town there lived a rather prosperous 
 merchant named Viebrasit, who was a dealer in 
 general merchandise, drugs and medicines, tallow 
 and hides, cordwood and miners' supplies. In 
 fact he did about all the business in the town, 
 from putting up a pill to putting up a coffin. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE 8KAJSONS 113 
 
 Now Mr. Viebrasit was a man of family, of more 
 than lawful age, of much wealth and had unlimit- 
 ed credit. He was one of the substantial creations 
 of the place, intrusted with many public trusts 
 and responsibilities, and looked upon with goocl 
 favor by his neighbors as being just and upright 
 in all his dealings, which he undoubtedly was. 
 He was one of the first men whom Bynington 
 became acquainted with in the place. Our hero 
 soon learned that the pill- and sugar-sand-mixer, 
 and publc-trust-holder, was quite a philosopher in 
 his way. He was an active politician, of course, 
 had stumped the county for the Populist party, 
 and made temperance his main hobby. He was 
 holding office at the time under the great Populis- 
 tic banner, but he was ready at any time to desert 
 that standard for the cause of sobriety. He read 
 Bynington many lectures on temperance and also 
 lectured him on the evils of gambling, till the lat- 
 ter was ashamed to let him know that he knew 
 how to shuffle a card. 
 
 One day Bynington walked into Viebrasit's store 
 and they had quite an argument over the best 
 methods to persue in order to put a stop to the 
 liquor traffic. 
 
 "I tell you it is no use, the saloons must be 
 rooted out," said Mr. Viebrasit, warming up to his 
 subject. "Look at the crime and misery they are 
 causing ? A man who goes into one of those dens 
 
 27 
 
114 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 of iniquity and pours a lot of alcoholic poison 
 down his throat is destroying his body and 
 ruining his business. 
 
 "Look at the effects of it on every hand ? 
 t "See the old drunks on the streets, begging for 
 something to eat? 
 
 "What made them so ? 
 
 "What made them so, I say ? 
 
 "They are going to ruin, ruin, ruin !" as he 
 hammered the counter with his fists. 
 
 "I tell you 1 am not going to rest until I see 
 the liquor business stopped, entirely entirely!" 
 
 "How are you going to stop it?" ventured 
 Bynington, quizzically. 
 
 "Put the license up so high that they cannot 
 afford to sell it; or pass laws to stop the manu- 
 facture altogether. 
 
 'I tell you the time is coming when there will 
 be no liquor sold in this country, or no gambling 
 either. It must come. 
 
 "The end of whiskey selling is coming sure!" 
 as he excused himself out of the store, and told 
 his side-headed clerk that he had some important 
 business up town. 
 
 "Yes, it is, like hell," said the clerk, as that 
 worthy brushed a year's accumulation of dust off 
 of a bolt of faded muslin, and rooted out some 
 unlawfully-stored deer skins that had been fenced 
 off from the spectator by cobwebs. 
 
 Bynington walked out of the store and looked 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 115 
 
 around the rain-soaked street, and the lopped-off 
 sidewalks, and concluded that he was not worth 
 reforming, anyway; so he would return to the 
 saloon and join his intellectual friends in the 
 poker game which was most always in session. 
 
 When he entered the place he was dumbfounded 
 to see his friend Viebrasit, not in the poker game; 
 but seated at the Piute table, playing with the 
 woodchopper, the bullwhacker, the railroader, the 
 log driver, the blacksmith, the butcher and the 
 butcher's boy. 
 
 The Chinaman and "nigger" were barred. So 
 the two last named gentlemen were watching the 
 game. The "Nigger" relating to his companion 
 his experience while in San Quentin prison. 
 
 Piute is a trifling, petit larceny game, borrowed 
 from the Indians, to demoralize their usurpers. 
 The Chinaman was barred from the game because 
 he claimed to have "shlee paree takee the monee, 
 all the slamee;" and the "coon" had been thrown out 
 because he said "that's the boy!" and attempted 
 to take down the "pot" when he only had a queen 
 and jack. 
 
 Mr. Bynington, as we stated, was rather startled 
 to see Mr. Viebrasit in the game, and he looked 
 to see if he did not feel a little unnerved, but that 
 gentleman was perfectly at ease and was leisurely 
 shuffling the cards in a way that showed him to 
 be no novice at the sport. 
 
116 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 They turned up the "lowest for the drinks," and 
 when Viebrasit was asked what he would take, he 
 answered. "Whiskey and sugar, of course." 
 
 Bynington noticed that he took a long and 
 strong drought of it to; and every time the drinks 
 were called for that day he took the same old 
 "Whiskey and sugar, of course." 
 
 Our hero Bynington was no chicken by any 
 means, as he had met many queer people in his 
 life and was a little queer himself so this in- 
 consistency on the part of his friend Viebrasit 
 had very little effect on his nervous system only 
 to make him think that much less of humanity 
 and was soon forgotten. 
 
 So Bynington, who only intended to remain over 
 night in the town, or a day or two at the utmost, 
 found himself lingering there throughout the fall 
 and winter playing poker, talking temperance 
 and attending the dances. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 117 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The snow commenced to fall very early that 
 winter, and kept a falling falling as it knows 
 how only in that Mt. Shasta region just tumbling 
 on the ground in big wet chunks. 
 
 The railroad which wound around the base of 
 Mt. Shasta, threatened to be blockaded early in 
 the season and a big rotary snowplow was 
 brought up for the purpose of 1 eeping it open. 
 And that is how it happened that Bynington came 
 to be a passenger one day on the bi# plow. This 
 all happened a #ood many years ago, and the 
 present inhabitants were not living here then. 
 
 It was on a cold, snowy morning, with a dark 
 leaden sky, and the snow coming down in sulky 
 wet flakes that the rotary might have been seen 
 chawing the thick snow on its way north over the 
 bleaK summit. It \\as trying to open up the road 
 and meet the south-bound express, which was 
 stalled in a bi snowdrift on the other side of the 
 divide. 
 2$ 
 
118 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 The rotary held its way well, cut the white 
 flakes, tossed them in the air, and finally 
 came up to the blockaded train puffing like 
 a lion. The Superintendent of the road, who had 
 charge of the operations, soon saw the helpless- 
 ness of moving the train load of passengers with- 
 out assistance of a gang of snow shovelers, as the 
 heavy fall had beaten in around the sides of the 
 cars, closed up the windows and had the poor 
 train completely in its possession, to buffet with at 
 will. It was at the mercy of the elements, help- 
 lessly covered up in the drift and one could 
 almost walk across the top of the coaches on the 
 snow. 
 
 The passengers looked famished, and the wood 
 was giving out; but there was nothing to be done, 
 unless they turn cannibals and draw lots to see 
 who they feed upon first. 
 
 The rotary could do nothing but go back the 
 way it came before the snow got deep enough to 
 blockade it in the cut. 
 
 Just as the plow was about to return and beat 
 its way south Bynington noticed a familiar face at 
 one of the Pullman car windows, and to his utter 
 surprise and astonishment, on going into the 
 coach, he ran against his old friends. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Aregave. 
 
 "Well!" well they were all too much sur- 
 prised to speak. But Bynington had managed to 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 119 
 
 exclaim "Well!" to the lady, as they recognized 
 each other at a glance. 
 
 "Well!" said Bynington, clasping her extend- 
 ed hand, where in the world did you come 
 from?" 
 
 "I might ask that question of you," answered 
 the lady. "Mr. Aregave !" and the old gentleman 
 noticed that some one was talking to his wife, 
 when she called his attention. 
 
 His thoughts were entirely wrapped up in him- 
 self and how he was to get out of the fierce 
 elements. 
 
 Bynington and the sage of mortgages shook hands 
 as cordially as two gentlemen should, after a long 
 separation. They always had been good friends 
 anyway. The former noticed that the grave person 
 of wealth had materially aged since he saw him 
 last. He was not inclined to be pleasant, but said 
 he would rather lose twelve per cent of his entire 
 wealth than be caught in this infernal snowstorm. 
 And he muttered "twelve per-cent twelve per- 
 cent" to bine self, as he looked out the window 
 where an eddying blast had blown away the snow 
 and left a visible opening over the white face of 
 nature. 
 
 Bynington turned his attention to the beautiful 
 Nina, who looked as radiant and lovely as ever, 
 though a little more filled out and matronly. 
 
 He explained in a few hurried words bow he 
 
120 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 came up there OD the snowplow and was about to 
 return. 
 
 "And are we going through Mr. Bynington?" 
 she inquired anxiously. For a real dread had al- 
 ready settled down on the passengers, as to the 
 outcome of their fates. 
 
 "I am sorry to tell you Mrs. Aregave that there 
 is great danger regarding this train getting out of 
 here for some time, but you had better accompany 
 us. I can make arrangements with the railroad 
 people for you and your husband to come down 
 on the plow to where there is a hotel and good 
 accommodations," said he, "and I know it is the 
 best thing you can do, as this train may not get 
 out of here for a week." 
 
 "What do you think of the proposition?" she 
 said, drawing her husband's attention to the 
 matter. 
 
 "Oh, going down on a snowplow, when I've 
 paid my fare for a Pullman ! What for ?" he de- 
 manded angerly. 
 
 "Well, your Pullman and fare may b >th be here 
 till spring," retorted Mr. Bynington. "This tram 
 cannot be moved until they get men here to 
 shovel it out." 
 
 "And why do they not get the men ?" asked Mr. 
 Aregave. 
 
 "Because there are no men or shovels within a 
 hundred miles of us/' he responded, "and if it 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 121 
 
 snows all day and to-mght this train will be buried 
 so far out of sight that a coyote will not be able to 
 see an object to bark at in the morning. But 
 if you would condescend to take passage with us 
 on the rotary, a run of fifteen or twenty miles will 
 put us down in the sheltered canyon, where there 
 is as cozy a little hotel as one would wish to stop 
 at in stormy weather like this. " 
 
 "O, let us go, by all means, Mr. Aregave !" cried 
 his wife, anxious for the excitement and the trip. 
 
 "Not I," answered the capitalist, gravely. 
 "Haven't I paid my money to the railroad ? my 
 money ! then want me to ride on an engine I'll 
 see them damned first. This is what I get by 
 paying extra fare and coming around^ by the 
 northern route I" and he rubbed his hands and 
 growled about paying out extra money. 
 
 "O, then we will stay, if we perish!" sighed the 
 fair lady, as she settled down in her seat. 
 
 "We are going on the plow !" announced & 
 passenger known as Mr. Snowdown, who was 
 traveling with his wife and wife's sister. "Come 
 along Mrs. .Aregave, it will be fun. You had 
 better come too Col.," nodding to the aged, 
 capitalist. 
 
 "Me go? That's what the railroad company 
 would like, " replied Mr. Aregave, angerly. "Pay 
 out my good, hard money for railroad fare and 
 then ride in a barn. If I had known the cars 
 
 29 
 
122 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 couldn't haul me I'd saved my fare and walked. 
 Bad seat to 'em !" 
 
 "Well, my wife and wife's sister and I are 
 going," said the Snowdown man, "and if you 
 won't come you had better let your wife accom- 
 pany the ladies." 
 
 "She can go, if she wants too," he replied, more 
 benignantly, "but for myself they will either carry 
 me on this train or refund my money." 
 
 "I will remain here too, of course," said his 
 wife, looking very forlorn. "If we perish in the 
 storm I suppose it is no great matter anyway." 
 
 "No, you go along with the other women. I've 
 paid your fare to San Francisco, and it won't cost 
 no more. There's a hotel under the hill and the 
 price isn't high I know the place well. Wrap 
 yourself in furg and be gone." 
 
 "I would rather not go without you," answered 
 his wife. 
 
 "Yes, you will. You would be fidgeting all night 
 if you stayed, now you have the notion of it." 
 
 So after some explanations from Bynington and 
 the local manager of the railroad, and the assur- 
 ance of Mr. Snowdown, his wife and wife's sister, 
 that they would take especial care of Mrs. Are- 
 gave and see that no harm befell her, that lady 
 consented to hazard the trip without her husband 
 being one of the party. The old capitalist would 
 stay by the train and get the worth of his money 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 123 
 
 and the wife would journey through the storm 
 under the protection of Bynington, Mr. Snow- 
 down, his wife and wife's sister. It was only a 
 few hours separation, a trifling incident, but this 
 incident rought a great change in all their lives. 
 
 I do not approve of a married lady going any- 
 where with a man without her husband being one 
 of the party, even if there were other females 
 along, because it might lead to trouble, or all 
 sorts of complications, but Mr. Aregave did not 
 think so, and Ben Bynington and the rest of the 
 party did not care. 
 
 For the ride in the wabbly snowplow Mr. Are- 
 gave made his wife wrap herself in furs until she 
 resembled a big haystack. He had been investing 
 some of his "twelve per cent" in costly furs dur- 
 ing the trip and kept them by him in the coach. 
 When he had put around her all that she could 
 possibly stand up under he made Bynington take 
 a great bearskin coat of his that had been made 
 in Dakota, to stand between the wearer and a 
 blizzard, and which he had thoughtfully purchased 
 on his way West. This thoughtfulness on the 
 part of Mr. Aregave come in very handy later in 
 the day but of this we will not speak now. 
 
 So, when she was all muffled up and ready to be 
 removed from the comfortable coach of Marquis de 
 Pullman into the snow-eating pine box of the 
 Southern Pacific Co., she felt a great misgiving, 
 
124 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 and declared she would not go unless her husband 
 was by her side. 
 
 The tremendousness of the undertaking seemed 
 to have come over her all at once; and what ap- 
 peared to be a mere trifling matter a moment ago 
 now stood out in her vision as being the most 
 momentous occurrence of her life. She turned to 
 her husband and really begged him to let her stay 
 where she was; but the gods seemed to have 
 driven him mad for his own destruction. 
 
 He turned and pushed her forcibly along to the 
 snowplow. Handed her from his protection into 
 the hands yea, into the arms of Bynington ! 
 The whistle screamed toot ! toot ! ! 
 The huge machinery began to move ! 
 The drive wheels danced around on the track; 
 and the great old box of machinery, with its 
 whirling head of plated steel went plunging 
 through the drifts of snow headed for the Sacra- 
 mento canyon. 
 
 Bynington stood beside the woman whom the 
 husband had intrusted to his care, and looked very 
 serious.' Perhaps debating whether he should or 
 should not have been instrumental in inducing her 
 to make this trip. It was evident that the Snow- 
 downs intended to leave her in his hands, and he 
 did not know the woman or know, himself. He 
 had gone up the road to see a snowplow in 
 action, and here he was returning with the .wo- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 125 
 
 man of all women in the world who had been 
 in his thoughts for nearly a year, and who he 
 imagined had been his companion for countless 
 ages. 
 
 Thus Bynington stood reviewing the case in his 
 mind, the madam meanwhile watching the car 
 glide through the drifts. 
 
 Those present who recall the scene, say that the 
 marks of genius were traceable in every line of 
 his face, as the thoughts of the mind played over 
 his countenance. His varying expression would 
 remind one of the cold, austere, immovable summit 
 of Mount Shasta; the mighty, crashing, tumbling 
 of an avalanche; the mad, dashing, plunging of a 
 cataract; the broad, whirling, rolling depth of the 
 ocean; the gentle rippling of a mountain stream; 
 the rustling of the green grass and blooming 
 flowers; the sweet, surprised smile on the face of 
 the babe, when its eyes first meet the rising sun; 
 the calm, joyful look of lovers by the fireside; and 
 the solemn dropping of earth upon the coffin lid. 
 
 His face seemed to express all these wonderful 
 changes. The rapid movement of the car was a 
 glacier (which moves a mile a century) compared 
 with the thoughts of this man, traveling down the 
 mountain with the woman he had been dreaming 
 about every night for the past six months, and 
 whom he had accidently picked up in a snow-storm. 
 
 He had never formed a wish to win her affec- 
 
 tHITBRSITY 
 
126 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 tions from her husband, as much as he admired 
 her, though he had spontaneously allowed his 
 feelings to master him in the past. And he cer- 
 tainly never dreamed of accompanying her on such 
 a peculiar ride as this, where she was partly in his 
 keeping, till such time as she could be restored to 
 her legal spouse; but fate and chance had put her 
 in his way when he least expected it, and we must 
 wait and see how it will end. 
 
 She was now beginning to enjoy the trip im- 
 mensely. The novelty and excitement just suited 
 her fancy, and whatever foreboding weighed at 
 her heart when she started had now all drifted 
 away. 
 
 Bynington was trying to resolve in his mind 
 whether this trip, which seemed at first to be a 
 trivial incident, was really a passing trifle in his 
 existence or something momentous. 
 
 Anyway, it was this trip, the accidental meeting 
 of these two people, who had so passionately 
 loved each other in the fragrant summer less than 
 a year ago, that caused this story to be written. 
 
 The world may blame the author for giving the 
 history of these children of Nature to the public, 
 but why should the public not know the lives of 
 two such interesting people (though they took 
 every precaution themselves to draw a curtain 
 between them and the light of publicity) who 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 127 
 
 loved beneath the fragrance of the summer flowers, 
 and in the blasts of the winter snow ? 
 
 Nina was becoming more light-hearted and jovial 
 as the train dashed through the snow and made a 
 wider gap between her and her husband. There 
 was probably a reason for this, of which her com- 
 panions never dreamed. I stated a while back 
 that she looked a little more "matronly" than she 
 did the previous summer, but, as it turned out 
 afterwards, and as we hinted in the early chapters 
 of this work, she was just simply a young maiden. 
 Mr. Aregave had passed his life accumulating 
 money, at which vocation he had many talents, 
 but he was woefully lacking in domestic relations, 
 and it would have been better for him had he not 
 married better for them both. She was young 
 and vivacious, neither stick nor stone, and prob- 
 ably deep down in her heart was pleased to be out 
 of her wedded lord's society. The world lay be- 
 fore her, and she pined for a knowledge of its 
 mysteries. A woman should be loyal to her lord, 
 but our fair heroine had been suffering from too 
 much loyalty (to use a modified expression, that 
 will not offend the elderly ladies or the clergy). 
 
 I am one of those who always write chaste liter- 
 ature and would not give offense to anybody for 
 the world; but in the morally-/^/ kind of writing 
 (such as this work is) I do not believe in fencing 
 around the facts, or hiding an important part of 
 
128 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 my subject, such as (what they call) "clean" 
 writers do. I hope I will never be known as a 
 "clean" writer, because that is a word used to 
 shelter dullness. 
 
 Here I will bring this chapter to a close and 
 start another, and what may happen before I get 
 through with that, heaven only knows. In the 
 meantime the clergy or the laity, matron or maid 
 can rest assured that it is good for them to read 
 or I would not be writing it. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 129 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 After the rotary had dashed along over the 
 frozen rails for a distance of eight or ten miles, it 
 brought up all standing against a pile of rock and 
 dirt, which had slid down on the track. It was 
 what the railroad people call a "slide," and along 
 the mountain side, where this road winds its 
 crooked course, these slides are of frequent oc- 
 currence in the wet season and cause the wreck of 
 many a train. 
 
 The plow dashed right in it without any warn- 
 ing and the passengers were thrown from their 
 feet, though nobody was injured but the engine, 
 and it being constructed of steel it didn't mind 
 the jar much. ' 
 
 When they picked themselves up they found 
 their old car lying against the snow-bank. 
 
 "And here we are," says Bynington. 
 
 "Yes! here we are," re-echoed the Superintend- 
 ent, who went out to investigate the wreck. "We 
 will get down in no canyon to-night," he said re- 
 al 
 
130 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 turning to the car door, "unless we walk, as 
 traffic is now suspended from both ends on this 
 division of the Southern Pacific Kailroad Com- 
 pany of Kentucky. 
 
 Bynington went out to reconnoiter, and assist- 
 ed his female companion out of the wreck and up 
 on the snow-bank, (which had been piled up 
 by the rotary on each side of the track to a height 
 of ten feet) and where they could take in the situ- 
 ation and view the surrounding country. Mr- 
 Snowdown also assisted out his wife and wife's 
 sister, and they discussed the next best plan of 
 action. 
 
 "While it is about ten miles around by the rail- 
 road to this hotel in the canyon, I spoke of," ex- 
 plained Mr. Bynington, "it is only a mile or two 
 down through the woods from where we stand, 
 and by the hardness of the crust I believe it 
 would bear us quite easity. Suppose we cut 
 across through the timber and down the mountain 
 side?" 
 
 "I am willing, if you think it safe/' said Nina, 
 looking at him confidentially. 
 
 "When we get to where the hill is steep I will 
 haul you on the gentleman's fur coat," he said, 
 producing the garment presented by her lord. 
 
 "That will be great sport," she answered smil- 
 ing in a way that showed she had entire trust in 
 her escort. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 131 
 
 "I presume we can all go that way," said Mr. 
 Snowdown 
 
 "Why, certainly," said Mr. Bynington. "We 
 will have to keep together. The Superintendent 
 might come also to help assist the ladies over the 
 drifts. 
 
 "That I will," said that functionary of the big 
 railroad system. 
 
 So they started down the mountain side on a 
 trip that would have struck awe in the heart of a 
 mountaineer mail-carrier under such circumstances, 
 but our friends considered it a lark. 
 
 Bynington gathered up all the madam's 
 superfluous furs and wraps, and the two of them 
 were the last to take leave of the train crew. 
 
 The crust of snow was frozen hard enough to 
 sustain a persDn's weight, so the wayfarers made 
 good time down the hill till they reached the 
 thick timber, there the snow was quite soft and 
 they would sink two or three feet at every step. 
 In fact they soon found locomotion impeded and 
 nearly blocked altogether. 
 
 The Superintendent took the lead and lent his 
 assistance to Mr. Snowdown's wife's sister, and in 
 regular rotation, like a flock of sheep, came Mr. 
 Snowdown, his wife, Mr. Bynington and his 
 friend's wife. W T heu the traveling became 
 laborious the latter gentleman spread his friend's 
 big coat on the snow and sat his fair companion 
 
132 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 on the same, thinking he could thereby transport 
 her down the hill, but he might as well try to 
 drag the five or six feet of snow, as the mushy 
 nature of that element prevented any sleighing. 
 And to make matters worse it was nearly ni^ht 
 and a new storm had set in. The dark, lowering 
 clouds which hung athwart the horizon all day 
 had broken loose, and it was falling as it only 
 knows how in that region at the rate of an inch 
 a minute, or faster. It came down so thick that 
 it was blinding to look at it. One's garments 
 would be weighted down with the wet mass 
 quicker than he could shake it off. It was falling 
 so thick among the trees that it brought great 
 branches down with it, and the trees held up 
 their battered stumps like an army in distress. 
 
 If anything would tend to confuse a traveler it 
 is a storm like this. No where in the world does 
 it snow like in the Sierra Nevadas, and in no part 
 of the Sierra Nevadas can it come down in such 
 chunks as up near Mount Shasta, where these 
 traveler! were now "stalled:" and this storm hap- 
 pened to be the most severe ever known to the 
 white settlers of that region. To sum it up, it 
 was something dreadful, and that does not half 
 express it. 
 
 The weather was not very cold (as one thinks of 
 that word in the far north) because it is not a 
 frosty climate, but a snowy one Jupiter ! 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 133 
 
 It was a strong heart, indeed, that could face 
 such a storm, and having no place to take shelter, 
 but in the dreary woods, where the trees seemed 
 to be in need of protection themselves. Our 
 travelers were beginning to feel somewhat alarmed. 
 The greatest difficulty they found was to keep 
 together. The snow came down so fast that one's 
 tracks would be immediately obliterated, and the 
 darkness was becoming so dense that one could 
 not see his neighbor three feet away. In a snow 
 of this kind a person could not look at any object, 
 because of injury to the eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Aregave was becoming alarmed, and would 
 throw away her wraps and plunge recklessly in 
 the snow, like one bewildered. Bynington had 
 waited for her, but they had lost sight of the rest 
 of the party. The other women seemed to be able 
 to travel in the snow alright. Mr. Snowdown' 8 
 sister-in-law displayed as much fortitude as any of 
 her male companions and breasted the storm like 
 a wild goose. 
 
 But Nina would not undertake to walk through 
 it, so she and Bynington wasted valuable time 
 struggling around in the snow without making 
 any headway. He could not carry her, and about 
 all he could do was to urge her follow in his foot- 
 steps. H understood the country and knew he 
 could take care of her, even if they were out in 
 
 a 
 
134 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 the elements all night. At least he would make 
 a desperate effort at trying, as he was a wonder- 
 fully strong character under difficulties and when 
 in the presence of danger. He now collected all 
 his wits. He had become lost from the others, but 
 the idea of him losing his head at such a time was 
 out of the question. He almost felt strong 
 enough to match his will against the Fates. The 
 greater the danger the stronger would he brace 
 his nerves, and the more rapidly think. 
 
 Besides he had more than his own welfare to 
 look after now. Another man's wife had been 
 turned over to his care, and he had led her into 
 all this danger. 
 
 He tried to beat a path for her to walk in, but 
 it was tedious work. The snow-covered trees and 
 mountains had become wrapped in the densest 
 darkness, and the storm was raging upon them in 
 its wildest fury. It was a time when the bravest 
 individual might well begin to quake. If the 
 other women had kept up the gait they were mak- 
 ing when he last saw them they were out of the 
 storm by this time. 
 
 Mrs. Aregave throughout this ordeal had utter- 
 ed no complaint, but she had allowed herself to 
 become dismayed by the storm and was now 
 entirely exhausted. In fact she had reached the 
 end of endurance. She discarded all her super- 
 fluous clothing and plunged into the snow any- 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASOiMS 135 
 
 where. He picked her up in his arms and she lay 
 like a child. 
 
 To carry her was out of the question, because 
 it only sunk him under the snow, and he did not 
 know what direction to take himself. So he 
 wrapped the garments about her and asked her to 
 remain still while he beat out a path and looked 
 around a little for bearings. 
 
 He tramped around among the trees, and finally 
 made out what looked to be a bank of something 
 a ridge, knoll or big rock which under a closer 
 examination turned out to be a cabin, or wood- 
 man's hut; the roof of which was just above the 
 snow. 
 
 He beat around it and dug the snow away until 
 he found a door, which he bursted open and 
 tumbled inside. 
 
 He did not wait to examine it, knowing it 
 would do for a shelter, and thinking it would be the 
 only haven of refuge they would find that night, 
 hastened back to find his companion. 
 
 He retraced his steps; but when he reached the 
 place where he had left her he found nothing but 
 the bundle of clothing: the millionaire's wife had 
 gone. 
 
 Had she found the other travelers ? 
 
 The thoughts of losing the girl in the river the 
 summer previous come into his mind, and he 
 wondered if this would not be a similar tragedy. 
 
136 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 He came near going wild himself at the thoughts 
 of it. 
 
 "Do women realty slip through my fingers and 
 disappear like a phantom ?" he cried to the bleak 
 elements. And indeed that really seemed to be 
 one of his fatalities. 
 
 "If she should die in the storm !" 
 
 The storm was sweeping down with such fury; 
 the night^was so dark and cold; and the blinding 
 snow was dashing against his eyes with such 
 force, that it seemed almost impossible to trace 
 her steps. In fact the snow was falling so fast 
 it would fill up a track before the foot was out of 
 it. 
 
 He listened, but could hear no sound, save the 
 storm roaring through the trees, and the branches 
 moaning beneath the weight of snow. 
 
 White bodies, sometimes larger than a man, and 
 of all shapes, seemed to be coming down -with the 
 storm and floating before his eyes. Some of 
 them would march up to his face, slashing at one- 
 another like an army of soldiers (or demons) in 
 battle; then they would whirl off and go driving 
 before the wind, while a new regiment would 
 come slanting down towards him, and float off 
 after the others. 
 
 "Ye imps!" he cried, "have ye stolen my lady 
 from my side and are ye now fighting over her ? 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 137 
 
 or is she buried in the snow and ye trying to hide 
 her from my sight? 
 
 "O, ye creatures of the blast!" 
 
 He gathered up the furs she had discarded and 
 started down the mountain in the direction of the 
 least resistance, crying in the anguish of his heart: 
 "Just let me find that woman and save her life and 
 it is the only favor I will ever ask of heaven or 
 earth. 
 
 "O Thou who rules the storm ! 
 
 "Who casts these elements in angry fury down ! 
 
 "And rises one to batter on the other ! 
 
 "Guide thou my steps to find my love, and I 
 will bare myself to the icy blast till the very crea- 
 tures of the storm beat themselves to pieces 
 against my person ! 
 
 "Yea, I will battle with the elements, and force 
 these fierce clouds back ! 
 
 "Take me out of the snow and let us die to- 
 gether!" came a voice from under his feet. 
 
 And the first thing he knew he tripped against 
 her body, which was buried out of sight, and 
 rolled awkwardly over it; more comical than 
 pathetic, which knocked his poetic sentiments in- 
 to a cocked hat. 
 
 It is bad to spoil a pretty sentiment by falling 
 over it; but we are such clumsy mortal things 
 after all, and it is hard to always act the hero in 
 a snow-storm. 
 
 33 
 
138 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 But he did pick her up out of the snow with all 
 the haste possible, and after giving her a very 
 warm hug (which could be pardoned under such 
 circumstances) guessed the direction of the cabin, 
 and started for it as well as he knew how. 
 
 He soon found the place again, thanks to his 
 wonderful faculties for keeping track of directions 
 and distances. In this he had a better instinct, or 
 judgment than a carrier pigeon. 
 
 He carried her inside, brushed the snow from 
 her clothing, hugged her to produce warmth, 
 chafed her pretty hands and face, called her all 
 the pet names he could think of, fished some 
 matches from his pocket and struck a light. 
 
 If this had been in ye olden times, when knights 
 picked up stray ladies, he would have had the 
 devils own time striking a flint and trying to pro- 
 duce a flicker, but thanks to our era of matches, a 
 gentleman can produce a light any time he wants to. 
 
 He saw some dry sticks of wood by a little 
 rock fireplace, which he soon ignited, and had a 
 blaze roaring out the chimney in no time. 
 
 He sat his lady down by the fire, and then ran 
 out and hunted up her lost furs, as he was 
 bound to keep their wardrobe intact. It was a 
 cold night and they needed all the clothing they 
 could get. 
 
 When he returned he took time to look around 
 the establishment to see what kind of an abode 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 139 
 
 they had taken possession of. It proved to be 
 quite a cozy affair. In fact he had heard of this 
 very cabin, as it had been occupied the past sum- 
 mer by quite a conspicuous character, and was 
 just in the shape he left it a few months before; 
 even to having a pile of dry wood in the house. 
 
 There was the wood stacked up by the chimney; 
 an improvised table holding the place of honor in 
 the center of the room; a couple of nice little 
 rough-wood seats; a comfortable looking bunk, 
 made of poles and boards, and covered with a 
 soft layer of pine needles, which the conspicuous 
 character had gathered at his leisure to make a 
 soft couch to lie on, while he studied the works 
 of the old Mahatmas from the Himalayas. 
 
 This conspicuous character, who left this 
 hermitage to furnish a shelter for our two 
 bewildered friends, had used it as a place of 
 retirement, in which to study the mysteries of the 
 thaumaturgic skill revealed by Koot Hoomi and 
 Madame Blavatsky. He was trying to fathom the 
 works of those two great adepts, who could pick 
 up a material object and disintegrate it by some 
 mystic process, pass it through other matter and 
 restore it to its original solidity a thousand miles 
 away. He was studying occult Buddhism, on 
 what he pleased to call "the higher plane," and 
 expected at some day to blossom out a full-fledged 
 Ego (after he had gone through two or three 
 
140 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 hundred reincarnations) when the spiritual entity 
 would be broken loose forever from every particle 
 of matter, then he would be ready to flit away to 
 the beautiful and dreamless Nirvana of Buddha. 
 
 So he had flitted away and left this cabin closed 
 in all the glory of spirituality and mysticism, till 
 it was opened by our two very material and human 
 friends. 
 
 In fact it pains me to think they were so human. 
 I would like to have had them more divine. 
 
 It was old Cicero who said "to err is human." 
 He discovered that sublime truth a long time 
 ago. The best people in the world are liable to 
 err; the disagreeable, inhuman, old dried up ones, 
 never. They are too mean to err. 
 
 But our two friends, with all their humanity, 
 seemed to have a large share of the spirituality 
 and mysticism of Koot Hoomi, so it might have 
 been the occult power left in the woods by this 
 disciple of the Brotherhood of Adepts in Thibet, 
 that attracted our friends to the retreat. 
 
 As the reader will remember, they had been at- 
 tracted to each other very mysteriously from their 
 first meeting, and she never has shown the least 
 resistance to this man, which the prudish reader 
 may condemn, as being a fault of the writer; but 
 it was an inborn essence of her composition. 
 
 Anyway they were fast becoming warm and 
 comfortable. The fire was blazing cheerfully on 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 141 
 
 the hearth, lighting up the small room in mellow 
 splendor. Bynington laid his furs on the 
 Mahatma's bunk and looked to the welfare of his 
 companion. He helped her remove her over- 
 shoes, likewise her shoes and stockings as the 
 snow had wet through at her ankles. 
 
 My dear reader may think it is going too far for 
 a young man to remove the stockings of another 
 man's wife; but, as I hinted above, she was not ex- 
 actly a wife, and then this was a very strange 
 case. It is seldom you hear of such respectable 
 people getting lost in a snow-storm and bringing 
 up in a cozy hut when they were about to perish. 
 I would not, for the world, set down aught 
 against these people that was not scriptural truth- 
 
 They were both glad to be in out of the storm, 
 and nestled up to the fire. The warmth was act- 
 ing as a stimulant to her nerves, and being young 
 and healthy, she was fast recuperating from the 
 fatigue. He sat down by her side while she 
 toasted the cold, damp extremities before the fire, 
 and he did the same with his. She might have 
 covered up her ankles, but she did not have the 
 will just then. So they toasted their limts to- 
 gether, and what pretty limbs she had ! 
 
 Those ankles bare and not brown ! 
 
 In the summer time gone by, Ben Bynington 
 had been thinking how pretty they must be; but 
 
 34 
 
142 A CHARGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 now he saw that they would make an artist or a 
 poet go crazy. 
 
 Of course those infernal artists and poets are 
 liable to go into hysterics over anything pretty; 
 and L know the pious reader is not attracted that 
 way but to proceed. 
 
 They wondered what had become of their com- 
 panions. 
 
 "If we had known this cabin was here," said 
 she, "we might have all taken shelter for the 
 night." 
 
 "I think they have managed to reach the 
 settlement," he replied. 
 
 "They were selfish in not waiting for us, any- 
 way." 
 
 "They were presumably looking out for them- 
 selves." 
 
 "It would have been so much better if we 
 could have all kept together." 
 
 "Yes. I tried to keep up with them." 
 
 After quite a toasting he brought a rug left by 
 the disciple of Buddha, and spread on the hearth 
 beneath her feet. 
 
 He seated himself by her side again, poked up 
 the fire, and they chatted as comfortably as two 
 innocent schoolchildren; toasting their feet before 
 the fire, sticking their toes in the warm ashes, 
 gazing dreamingly at the crackling embers, and 
 occasionally stealing a glance into each other's eyes. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 143 
 
 She had unloosened her hair, and those beau- 
 tiful dark silken tresses fell lovingly around her 
 graceful neck and shoulders, and strayed over her 
 face, partly hiding the soft, lovable light that was 
 sparkling in her eyes. He could not be blamed if 
 he pressed his bare foot against hers, or clasped 
 the little hand that lay upon her knee, while they 
 listened to the storm raging over the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 They were becoming (in spite of their surround- 
 ings, and the circumstances of their lives) too 
 affectionately friendly. So he got up and took a 
 new survey of the Brahman's abode. 
 
 It seemed to have been built pretty strong, but 
 whether it would stand up under the tremendous 
 weight of snow that was tumbling haph zard on 
 the roof seemed doubtful, and caused great 
 uneasiness in his mind. 
 
 The bed, he noticed was a delightful place for a 
 tired person to repose his wtary limbs upon. 
 They had sufficient wraps too, to make a decently 
 warm covering. The bunk had been made for 
 one person, though two small people might rest 
 thereon, providing they lay close together. Any- 
 way it was big enough for a woman. 
 
 He fastened up the door, replenished the fire 
 and sat down ayain by his companion, to help her 
 dream over the red coals. 
 
 She was certainly the prettiest and most 
 
144 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 enticing picture that man ever looked upon, with 
 eyes of love, or otherwise. Sitting now on a coat 
 spread upon the floor, her shapely bare ankles 
 stretched out upon the hearth, like she used to sit 
 in summer, only now the feet being naked were 
 taking on pink dimples from the glowing fire; the 
 skirts a little drawn up; the head thrown back, 
 resting against the seat, and the pure red lips 
 partly opened, revealing two pretty rows of white 
 pearls she was all red and white, and nature's 
 fairest and most bewitching flower. 
 
 He brought one of the furs and placed it under 
 her head, that she might rest in more comfort and 
 dream away the pleasant hours, without a dis- 
 agreeable thought. 
 
 Our hero would not take advantage of another 
 man's wife, who had been intrusted to his care, 
 and still he was not made of that kind of clay that 
 would stand everything. I doubt if either of 
 them were ever noted for their ability to resist 
 temptation. Of course she never had any 
 temptation thrown in her way but once, and then 
 she married, and the outcome of that by this time 
 must be familiar to my readers. With the ex- 
 ception of the little episode last summer on the 
 river bank, and that is pretty nearly forgotten by 
 this time. 
 
 But the two children were now sitting here 
 Tery placidly, dreaming over the red coals; they 
 
A CHAJNUE WITH THE SEASONS 145 
 
 were both warm and comfortable, perhaps over- 
 come by that drowsiness, which follows exposure 
 to a storm; and were taking no thought of the 
 morrow. 
 
 So he could not resist taking hold of that dear 
 little hand a^ain, and watched the expressions 
 play over those sweet lips and face. He was 
 dreadfully in love. Was he really enchanted, and 
 this some gossamer fairy of the Arabian Nights, 
 that would flit away when he went to touch her? 
 or was this really and truly the woman he loved 
 so dearly, who was seated by his side, and re- 
 moved from all other human beings ? A squeeze 
 of her hand told him it was she, and he was con- 
 tent. He only had one wish, that they could stay 
 there undisturbed forever, and this night would 
 extend away out into eternity. 
 
 And she sat there dreaming, as the snow fell on 
 their little house. She seemed to hear the flakes 
 coming down in regular beats, as though sounding 
 a chord of music, and were playing a pretty 
 lullaby of love in her ears. The music it made 
 could be formed into words. First it was the 
 cold dropping of the snow, then it changed into 
 babbling brooks and summer flowers. It was a 
 sweet tune and always connected with love. It 
 ran: 
 
 35 
 
 t . 
 
146 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 We are flakes of crystal white, 
 Chill'd on Shasta's lofty height, 
 Near the heavenly stars to-night, 
 On our sudden downward flight! 
 Mortal ! Mortal ! made of clay ! 
 Love us ere we pass away. 
 
 We go dancing on the hill; 
 Kiss and flood the sparkling rill, 
 As it boundeth with a will 
 From Creation's own distill. 
 Love us! Love us! while you may; 
 Ere we softly float away. 
 
 We are not congealed at all, 
 But the softest petal ball 
 Grown in Eden ere the fall: 
 Fragrant daisies sweet and small 
 Mortal ! Mortal ! ere we part 
 Give us lodgment in your heart ! 
 
 We are scented flowers of May 
 Blooming by the mossy brae; 
 Spreading dust of pollen spray; 
 Stealing lovers sighs away. 
 We will bide your lips to kiss, 
 Bed with love's attaining bliss ! 
 
 Mortal ! Mortal ! made of clay I 
 Soft caresses o'er you play ! 
 Love in raptures while you may, 
 Ere you fade and pass away. 
 Meet us at the dawn of day 
 On Mt. Zion's top to pray. 
 
 She was so filled with the enchanted music that 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 147 
 
 she had to sing the last stanza partly aloud, and 
 cuddled up against her companion; stretching one 
 arm around him, and turning up those red, rosy 
 lips, which he had longed to kiss so many times. 
 
 The snow came down faster and faster. It was 
 the preeminent storm of the season, indeed. It 
 shook up the sturdy old pine trees of the forest, 
 stripped off their smaller branches and left them 
 swaying to and fro as if in pain; with the snow- 
 flakes falling from their slivered stumps like 
 frozen tears, imploring the god of storm to have 
 mercy on their broken limbs. It filled up the 
 canyon and drifted in deep ridges on the moun- 
 tain. The little cabin, wherein our friends rested 
 oblivious of the fury of the elements on the out- 
 side, was buried entirely out of sight; and if the 
 snow did not stop up the chimney and cause them 
 to be asphyxiated, it would mash down the roof 
 and crush them to death. But they rested there 
 like two ground squirrels in their winter nest and 
 heeded it not. 
 
 The other wayfarers, whom we left a few pages 
 back, had to stand the full blunt of the storm. 
 
148 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 The Superintendent kept the lead, and took the 
 hand of Mr. Snowdown's wife's sister, who was a 
 handsome young woman, and well worth being 
 protected from such a furious tempest. They man- 
 aged to beat their way down the mountain side 
 and reach the hotel in good season. But Snow- 
 down and his wife had a terrible time of it, and 
 would have perished, only the Superintendent, 
 after leaving his companion in security, gathered 
 up a few hardy mountaineers, who, under his 
 guidance, beat their way up the mountain side, 
 where they found the Snowdowns, and rescued 
 them from a dreary death just in the nick of 
 time. The Snowdowns had an experience they 
 would never forget, and long rued the day they 
 left the train to cross a snowy mountain with 
 Bynington and a railroad Superintendent. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Morning finally broke on a canyon and mountain 
 side covered with a dreary waste of snow. The 
 elements were still black and threatening, but the 
 snow had ceased to fall, as though it had snowed 
 itself out and was looking for new material upon 
 which to exercise. The new fleece which fell dur- 
 ing the night must have been at least seven or 
 eight feet deep. 
 
 Every inhabitant in the little towns and ham- 
 lets were astir gophering themselves out. The 
 railroad company had received an assignment of 
 two or three hundred snow-shovelers from the 
 valley the day before and had all their plows 
 out bucking at the beautiful blockading element. 
 The big rotary had been shoveled out and was 
 whipping the snow right and left, as it bore 
 around the canyon's edge. It would pick up 
 great chunks of the stuff, whirl it around on its 
 nose, and toss it in a steady stream twenty or 
 
 36 
 
150 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 thirty feet from the track. All one could see of 
 the plow was a rainbow of snow in the air. 
 
 They rotated their way up to the stalled train 
 and shoveled it out. 
 
 It was during the shoveling out of the train, 
 near noon next day, that some of the train crew 
 bethought themselves to talk about the lost pair 
 Bynington and his companion. 
 
 "What has become of .the two foolhardy indi- 
 viduals who left us last night?" asked the brake- 
 man. 
 
 "They have certainly perished," authoritively 
 declared the Superintendent. "They did not 
 reach the hotel and there is no chance for them to 
 live out of doors in a storm like that of last 
 night." 
 
 "There is an old cabin on the hillside some 
 where near their course," spoke up the engineer, 
 "and Bynington is a very shrewd man and more 
 nor likely took shelter there." 
 
 "More nor likely they didn't," said the brakey. 
 
 "The last I saw of them they were making very 
 poor headway," continued the Superintendent, 
 "and I doubt if they reached any shelter. 1 can- 
 not understand why they could not travel as well 
 as the rest of us " 
 
 "Even if he did find that cabin," said the brakey^ 
 "it would be a poor shelter in such a storm." 
 
 "I have seen the hut you speak of," said the 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASOM3 151 
 
 Superintendent, " but it is not near the route we 
 took, and the amount of snow which fell last night 
 would crush it to the ground. It has caved in a 
 number of stronger buildings in the same vicinity." 
 
 '-Yes, the Methodist church went down with a 
 smash-up, worse than two trains trying to pass on 
 the same track," chipped in the brakeman. 
 
 "That was kinder bad too," remarked the engin- 
 eer, "seein' that the bawdyhouse next door never 
 busted a cylinder-head. *' 
 
 ' "That shows you the conductor in charge of the 
 storm has no religion in his job," said the brake- 
 man, "when he strikes the house of God and 
 spares the house of sin." 
 
 "And it also shows the injustice of Fate," said 
 the engineer. "Because it is so much easier for a 
 keeper of a bagnio to raise money in this country 
 than it is for the members of a church." 
 
 "Then the congregation should use their edifice 
 for the more remunerative purpose, even if they 
 would run wild on a down grade," answered the 
 brakeman. 
 
 "Perhaps the purpose that would be the more 
 suitable to you, though, would not be agreeable to 
 others," followed the other in rapid repartee. 
 
 "You seem to know more about the income of 
 the two callings than I do," returned the other. 
 "But if you could make such pick-ups as that 
 fellow Bynington did yesterday you could give 
 
152 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 more money to the churches, and then not be 
 running in so often for repairs." 
 
 "That was a married lady of high standing," 
 broke in the Superintendent, "and I am very un- 
 easy about her." 
 
 "Well, it is liable to make trouble if they ever 
 show up," said the brakeman dryly. "Because 
 after being out this long by themselves they have 
 either gone to rue or ruin. Whether they have 
 gone over the hanging wall or been caved down 
 the bank the collision will be equally disastrous." 
 
 "It is too bad indeed," said the Superintendent, 
 ignoring the other's insinuations, "and her hus- 
 band is on this train. Even if they took shelter 
 in a cabin and the snow did not break it in they 
 would die of suffocation." 
 
 "That would save the old man the trouble of 
 getting a divorce," said the brakeman. 
 
 "Well, the husband will have to be notified as 
 to the present phase of the case," the Superinten- 
 dent continued. "You had better tell Finn, the 
 passenger brakeman, to explain the matter to the 
 old gentleman," as Mr. Finn leaned over the steps 
 of one of the coaches. 
 
 "Break it to him light Finn," said the other 
 brakeman. "Just tell him that his wife was seen 
 last alive going into the woods with a bold, bad 
 man, and a smashup is expected." As Finn came 
 up and was duly instructed. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THB SEASONS 15a 
 
 But Finn very prudently brought Mr. Are crave 
 to the scene and had them explain matters them- 
 selves. 
 
 Mr. Aregave looked considerably haggard and 
 excited when he came out, and the Superintendent 
 started in at once to explain to him that there 
 were grave doubts about the destination of his 
 wife, who had left the stalled engine on the grade 
 the night before in the company of Mr. Byning- 
 ton, Mr. Snowdown and wife and wife's sister and 
 himself, and had not been heard of since. 
 (Though the management of the Southern Pacific 
 Railroad Company of Kentucky would do all in 
 their power to locate her and her friend, and re- 
 store them to their rightful owners.) 
 
 "You don't tell me ! you don't tell me !" broke 
 in Mr Aregave, excitedly ringing his hands. "I 
 would rather have lost twelve per cent, twelve 
 per cent, interest, on a five - thousand - dollar 
 mortgage for a whole year, than to be told of the 
 like she would go she would go twelve per 
 cent, mind you! twelve per cent!" 
 
 When Mr. Aregave was excited he always 
 th ought of "per cent." 
 
 "We will be down there pretty soon with this 
 train," said the Superintendent, "as it is about 
 shoveled out, and we will put all our force to 
 work on their trail." 
 
 "O, mercy, hunt her up!" broke in the hus- 
 n 
 
164 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 band, growing more excited. "I won't have to 
 pay the cost twelve per cent twelve percent ! 
 wife lost ! money gone ! O, this infernal 
 country! this devil's country! I have trouble 
 every time I come up here ! 
 
 "Trouble, trouble, trouble. 
 
 "Trouble with the Indians, when I come this 
 way looking for gold in early da}-s trouble with 
 my wife and young friends when I come up look- 
 ing for pleasure at- a summer resort and now 
 more trouble ! I knew she would be the death of 
 me! Woman, woman, woman !" 
 
 "Very likely she's 'loped with t'other man," 
 broke in Finn, the passenger brakeman, who was 
 not very sentimental over love affairs, anyway, 
 and had a healthy dislike for the covetous 
 millionaire. 
 
 "Don't you say it! Don't you say it, you 
 fiend!" shouted the other, shaking his fists 
 furiously. And he commenced chasing Finn 
 around the cars. 
 
 The train started up while the millionaire and 
 Finn were still engaged in a foot race. The old 
 gentleman was beside himself with anger, and 
 anxiety about his wife. She was probably the 
 only person iu the world he had any regards for, 
 and the insinuating remark of the brakeman was 
 more than he could stand. 
 
 He chased him from one car to another after 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 155 
 
 the train was under headway, to the amusement of 
 other passengers, and finally, after being eluded 
 by Finn, Mr. Aregave concluded to leave the train 
 and go out over the snow-bank in search of his 
 wife. 
 
 He jumped off the steps of one of the coaches 
 and ran up the steep slippery bank of snow that 
 had been made by the plow. 
 
 What has become of our two friends and the 
 disciple of Koot Hoomi's cabin? 
 
 I suppose the reader would like to know some- 
 thing about their fate by this time; and I am 
 afraid to go and draw the curtain myself. I 
 know the reader would hate to hear that they 
 had perished; he would also hate to hear that 
 they had done anything wrong so would I. If 
 it turns out that they are dead beneath seven or 
 eight feet of snow, who will be to blame ? Not 
 the present scribe, I hope, because I am only 
 chronicling the great occurrences that took place 
 on that memorable day memorable, especially to 
 the simple inhabitants who existed in that neck of 
 the woods at the time. 
 
 It must have been some time during the latter 
 part of the night that the roof of the small cabin 
 went down with a crash. It had been holding up 
 
166 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 a surprising amount of snow for a structure so 
 frail, but a time had come when it could bear the 
 strain no longer. The influence of the Adepts 
 of Thibet seemed to have given it strength up to 
 the time of the crash, when our two mortals 
 found themselves struggling among a mass of 
 broken poles and snow. Whether the mystic 
 Brotherhood withdrew their protection because of 
 some wrongdoing of these, their children, after 
 being conducted to its shelter, or whether the 
 cabin just simply could not stand up under any 
 more weight will never be known. 
 
 Anyway the crash was something frightful to 
 the two occupants. The supports gave wa} r with- 
 out any warning; but they escaped being hit by 
 any of the flying timber, which might have killed 
 them outright. 
 
 They commenced a life and death struggle with 
 the elements which were trying to crush and 
 smother them. 
 
 In his desperate floundering Bynington dis- 
 covered that the rock chimney still stood up in 
 the wreck like a monument, so with great effort 
 he tunneled his way over to it. He found that 
 the fire had melted the snow away around it, that 
 the poles were held up by the rocks, and that he 
 had standing and breathing room. He took a few 
 long breaths and then dug in the debris for his 
 companion, whom he drew to his side. 
 
A CHANGE \VI1H THE SEASONS 157 
 
 They both breathed an air of relief, and then 
 commenced a struggle up by the chimney till they 
 reached the surface, where they were safe from a 
 dreadful death which threatened them a few mo- 
 ments before; but they were still in a sorry plight. 
 
 He went down the chimney again and fished 
 out what portion of their wraps he could find near 
 the opening, brought them up and wrapped them 
 about his shivering companion. Then they started 
 out to breast the storm again. 
 
 It would be long to tell of their struggle through 
 seven or eight feet of new snow, besides the old 
 fall, but they both showed more courage and 
 fortitude than they did the night before, and, as 
 the storm had somewhat abated, finally wallowed 
 down in the canyon. 
 
 It was near the break of day when these two 
 exhausted children found themselves on top of a 
 little house. They did not know it was a house 
 till they were on the roof. 
 
 As they scrambled over it they could hear some 
 one talking within. It was the voice of a man, 
 and he was sending a string of oaths up through 
 the roof, which made Bynington at once guess at 
 his profession. 
 
 "Rachel, them's the damn'dest snowflakes I evr 
 hard, that's fallin' on thur rufe," said the voice. 
 'Its nothin' but shivel snow, shivel snow; if one 
 was unner a sawlog in hell he'd havter still 
 
 shivel snow, by . I jist cleen'd the rufe 
 
 ts 
 
158 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 offner an' now its comin' down agin, like hell. 
 Godamn sich a storm." 
 
 "Lor, Jasp, them's not snowflakes," came a fe- 
 male voice. "Yer lunt hier snow falhn." 
 
 Our two friends slid down into a tunnel, which 
 Jasp had bored out from his door, and asked for 
 shelter. They met the man coming' out to shovel 
 snow, as he thought the sounds they made on the 
 roof were caused by a new storm. He was clad in 
 a pair of overalls and a red flannel undershirt, and 
 had no time to devote to stragglers at that un- 
 seemly hour. Bynington knew he was correct in 
 his surmises of the man's calling, for the red shirt 
 at once denoted the make-up of a bullwhacker. 
 (He wore the characterestic garb of all bullwhack- 
 ers, especially in bad weather. In summer time 
 he might have on two or three coats. Red shirts 
 were worn in the days of Bret Harte in California, 
 but now no one but bullwhackers wear them.) 
 
 Bynington was bound to have shelter, if he 
 had to fight for it, so he paid no attention to the 
 oaths fired at him by the bullwhacker, but 
 assisted Nina in the house, where they found 
 the bullwhacker's wife, Rachel, to be a very 
 clever person. Their teeth were chattering to- 
 gether at a dreadful rate, and Nina was nearly 
 dead; but Rachel warmed and fed them, and then 
 sent Nina to her (Rachel's) bed, while she dried 
 her clothing before a rousing pine-wood fire. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 159 
 
 She heated flannels and wrapped about the poor 
 thing's knees and chest, and dosed her with hot 
 tea till she fell asleep. Poor girl, she must have 
 been about dead. 
 
 About noon that day the bullwhacker might 
 have been seen wending his way towards the sta- 
 tion with a yoke of his speediest "critters" hitched 
 to a wood sleigh, and Bynington and Nina riding 
 in state. The lovely woman in this rude turnout 
 looked as attractive as Cleopatra sailing up the 
 river Cydnus, in her gilded barge, to meet, and 
 capture the heart of Antouy at Cilicia. 
 
 The sun was now shining brightly and her face 
 was as radiant as the sunbeams dancing on the 
 sparkling snow. These two children, Bynington 
 and Nina, loved the sunshine as man and woman 
 never loved it before. They were cradled be- 
 neath a southern sun especially the woman and 
 those so reared are never satisfied to live in the 
 shade. So in the warm light of day, after coming 
 out of so many scrapes, they were both cheerful 
 and happy. 
 
 After the bullwhacker had Goddamned the 
 hearts and eyes of his two beeves for some dis- 
 tance, and to very little avail, as far as iraking 
 time went, they turned a sharp curve in the road, 
 and there yes, there, sure enough was the 
 hotel for which they sought the night before; and 
 there was a train coming down the canyon that 
 looked for the world like the one on which the 
 lady was traveling across the continent. It was 
 the south-bound Oregon Express. 
 
 They bade adieu to the bullwhacker and 
 resumed the journey on foot. 
 
160 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When Nina looked down the long sweep of 
 river and snow-clad wooded hills, and saw the 
 train whirling around the curves with its familiar 
 aspect, a thousand memories rushed into her 
 head. The color left her cheek. 
 
 "Only a day !" she muttered. 
 
 Her companion discerned the troubled look on 
 her face. "If we had known how near we were to 
 civilization last night," he said, "we might have 
 reached here in place of the cabin." 
 
 "If we had then, or never," she replied, with 
 firmly set lips. 
 
 He could not tell whether she despaired be- 
 cause they did not find the hotel the night before, 
 or because they met the train now. 
 
 "Don't you think it was some kind of an occult 
 influence which led us to that little refuge, when 
 we might just as well have reached this place?" 
 he said. 
 
 "There may have been some invisible power at 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASOKS 161 
 
 work behind it ail," she answered. "The cabin 
 and the oxman's house were both out of our road." 
 
 "There is certainly something mysterious about 
 that little hamlet in the pines, and whatever be- 
 comes of us in the future the memory of it will be 
 with us still." 
 
 "And what a memory ! What was I born for?" 
 and she hid her face in her handkerchief, and 
 sobbed. 
 
 He was beginning to feel a little blue himself, 
 and to think that the part he had played would 
 not redound to his glory, though he had done the 
 best he could. He was in a predicament where 
 heroes very seldom appear. 
 
 "Do not grieve, little one," he said. "You are 
 now safe from your trip, and going back to the 
 world, where you can share in all its brilliancy 
 and shine. You will part from me and I will go 
 out in the night alone. If only some of those 
 tears were because of that departure I could the 
 better return into the darkness and solitude." 
 
 "Don't talk to me that way !" she sobbed. "My 
 heart is already broken. You. thin'; I have no 
 feelings I am not going any further !" 
 
 ''Pardon me ! I did not intend to hi rt your 
 feelings at such a lime. We vill have to go on. 
 Your reputation depends on it. Go down and 
 explain matters, and we v ill await future events. 
 Whatever feelings sway our breasts we will have 
 
 39 
 
162 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 to bury there, for the present. Will you agree ?" 
 
 'I would rather not explain anything, whatever 
 comes of it," she said. 
 
 "Well, will you agree to love rne, whatever 
 comes of it?" 
 
 "Ye-yes I will!" she whispered. 
 
 "Without equivocation ?" 
 
 "Yes God forgive me, and forgive us both." 
 
 "Amen ! 
 
 "We are now able to face anything." 
 
 "I feel a presentiment in my heart that all is 
 well," he said, after a short pause. "I am generally 
 informed in seme mysterious way in advance if 
 anything serious is about to happen to me or 
 mine, and by conjuring up all the presentiment 
 fibers within me I cannot feel one suspicious 
 twitch." 
 
 So they resumed their journey towards the 
 little station and the waiting train. 
 
 They floundered around in the snow and finally 
 reached the railroad track. 
 
 They were both a little giddy and dizzy, for as 
 much as they tried to brace their nerves they were 
 going through a dreadful ordeal. Of course they 
 could explain where they spent their time by the 
 bullwhacker and wife at least part of it and 
 that would do for an explanation, but these were 
 two children of deep sentiment and did not care 
 to explain anything. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 163 
 
 They brought up at the rear end of the Pull- 
 man after a while, and ascended the steps, where 
 he immediately assisted her to her drawing-room. 
 
 There are some awkward situations in this 
 world and the reader has good cause for sup- 
 posing that he, or she, is facing one right now. 
 That is why I thought it best to make a little 
 pause here and give the dear reader a chance to 
 collect his wits, and to ponder, if possible, ovar 
 the misadventures of this world. 
 
 Bynington had returned the lady to her hus- 
 band, but well, the writer does not intend to 
 moralize over it, but will introduce the reader di- 
 rectly to the scene. 
 
 When the lady passengers saw Mrs. Aregave 
 return they went wild over her. 
 
 There were Mr. Snowdown's wife and sister, 
 who had just come aboard themselves, and they 
 were terribly surprised. They had given her 
 up for dead long ago. 
 
 "Oh, the dear girl! the dear girl !" 
 
 "She has returned!" 
 
 "She has returned!" 
 
 "She has returned!" cried every lady passenger 
 together. 
 
 "We never expected to see you alive again." 
 
164 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 "It was reported that you perished in a snow- 
 bank last night." 
 
 "A house fell down and crushed you to death.'* 
 
 "Or WES it a tree?" 
 
 "Where have you been ?" 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "That beautiful color has left your cheek." 
 
 "I declare it has !" as they crowded around her 
 and all talked at once. 
 
 "The poor thing looks faint." 
 
 "And see, her skirts are all bedraggled with the 
 snow.'* 
 
 "But she does not look like one out in a storm 
 all night." 
 
 "I believe her feet are wet." 
 
 "Take off her shoes and turn the men out!" 
 
 Bynington went to the buffet and ordered the 
 porter take a cup of coffee immediately to Mrs. 
 Aregave. 
 
 When he returned to the drawing-room he was 
 feeling pretty uneasy, for several reasons; and he 
 saw that Mrs. Aregave was casting an eye around 
 as though she expected somebody. The} r were 
 both in just a little nervous condition. One of the 
 lady passengers perceiving that she looked for 
 her husband, explained that he left the train to 
 search for her and had not yet returned. 
 
 "Why, don't you people know," shouted Finn, 
 the passenger brakeman, coming through the car, 
 "the old fool jumped off the steps when the car 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 165 
 
 was in motion, and attempted to run up the steep 
 bank of snow (as several buJlheaded jays have 
 done before). When he got near the top of the 
 bank, which was about ten feet high (piled up by 
 the rotary) he slipped back, and came rolling 
 down under the wheels about four sets of trucks 
 passed over his body and the coroners of two 
 counties are now trying to gather up pieces 
 enough to hold an inquest on." 
 
 The women all screamed, and threw up their 
 hands in horror. 
 
 But there was no outcry from the newly-made 
 widow. 
 
 She had fainted. 
 
 Bynington standing on the platform of the little 
 depot saw his old friend Viebrasit getting aboard 
 the train in the custody of the Sheriff. He had 
 been arrested for misappropriating public funds, 
 and was being taken away for trial. All the honor 
 and uprightness, which hedged about so good a 
 mau, was gone; the idols were broken; and the 
 whole community looked down upon him as being 
 a bad egg. Even those he had befriended shun- 
 ned him, and they were many. The railroader, 
 miner, farmer, sawmiller, bull whacker, woodchop- 
 per, snovvshoveler, teamster, barber, baker, butcher 
 
 43 
 
166 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 and the butcher's boy, all held themselves aloft 
 and stood on their dignity, for fear he might 
 touch their uncontarninated persons. The China- 
 man and negro remained in the background and 
 looked wise. The latter probably would have 
 liked to give him some information about the 
 prison wherein he had been incarcerated, but re- 
 frained from indulging in any remarks. 
 
 Bynington looked upon the virtuous community, 
 frowned, and boarded the train without bidding- 
 anyone adieu. 
 
 While brakeman Finn sung out "All aboard !" 
 There was a change with the seasons, indeed. 
 
 If you look for this town in the Sacramento 
 canyon now you will be disappointed. The hotel 
 caught fire that same spring and burned to the 
 ground, and the inhabitants have all moved to 
 other parts. The town is a thing of the past but 
 the cabin wherein the Theosophist dreamed and 
 the lovers sheltered is still pointed out to tourists 
 as it stands partly dismantled among the pines. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 167 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A few years after the occurrences chronicled in 
 the foregoing chapters the writer found himself 
 out on the great South- Western prairie, some miles 
 from auy railroad (I will not say where.) 
 
 I was riding along on horseback one fine sun- 
 shiny afternoon over an unbroken plain, dotted 
 with cactus, yucca, mesquite and mescal, and the 
 solemn night-blooming cereus were standing up 
 like mileposts, pointing their thorny arms into the 
 unknown stretch beyond. 
 
 It was in the earl}' months of spring, when the 
 verdure was in bloom, the wild grass was inter- 
 spersed with delicately shaded flowers, and the 
 usual somber gray of this lonely desert waste had 
 taken on the pleasant hues of a Persian rug. The 
 scene was animated by a band of cattle grazing in 
 the distance, and a covey of quail cooing softly in 
 a mesquite bush near by. A lazy lizard was bask- 
 ing in the sun on a leaning chaparral and throw- 
 ing up his jaw to catch an occasional-passing fly; 
 while a lanky coyote eyed me suspiciously as I 
 jogged by. The light, dry air was invigorating, 
 and one was filled with a sense of contentment 
 and peace. 
 
168 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 My way led across a cuesta, or rolling hill, 
 where I brought up by a prosperous looking cattle 
 rancher's home; nestled beside a cool spring, 
 which was bubbling up from the center of the 
 earth near by, making a genuine oasis in the 
 desert. 
 
 The rancho was a long, low adobe house (casa), 
 partly hidden by vines and dowers, which were 
 creeping around the walls and doors; and, like all 
 similar structures, had an open court through the 
 center where the warm breezes could circulate 
 among the thick foliage and cool off. 
 
 I alighted, threw the reins over a post and 
 saluted an aged looking Mexican dame, who seem- 
 ed to be mistress of the ranch, and from whom I 
 requested a drink of water. 
 
 She returned my greeting with "Buenos dias, 
 caballero!" and then, like all Mexican women of 
 the frontier, started in with "Habla V. Espafiol, 
 senor?" 
 
 "Muy poco, senora; pero lo entiendo bastante." 
 
 "Que se ofrece, caballero !" 
 
 "Deme roso agua, senora," 
 
 "Si senor." 
 
 After drinking the old dame's health in water, 
 she said "Querria V. mejor tomar leche ?" 
 
 "Si, senora." 
 
 While I was sampling her milk she a^ain van- 
 ished in la casa and returned with a decanter of 
 wine and glasses, which she sat before me, and 
 "Quiere V. tomar un vaso de vino?" 
 
 "Si senora. Bebo a la salud de V !" 
 
 "Como encuentra V. el vino, senor?" 
 
 "Esta excelente, delicioso. Le doy a V. muchas 
 gracias, senora." 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 169 
 
 The vintage was of the very best, and I felt 
 greatly refreshed after partaking of her hospital- 
 ity. The reader must remember that drinking, 
 most anything, is the principal luxury one in- 
 dulges in on the desert. 
 
 While the old crone had been generously sup- 
 plying me with refreshments I noticed that the 
 house was rather luxuriously furnished; fine 
 works of art hung on the walls; large stacks of 
 books were thrown around in odd places, and the 
 whole establishment had an air of comfort and 
 refinement. 
 
 I was attracted by a beautiful little girl playing 
 on some costly furs in the hallway, whose coun- 
 tenance seemed to be familiar, though I knew I 
 had never seen her before. 
 
 "Who lives here ?" I asked the senora, anxious 
 to know the name of the happy tenant of such an 
 oasis m the desert, and also curious about the 
 child. 
 
 "Sefior Bynington," she replied, "and there he 
 is with senora riding out by that band of cattle." 
 
 "Ben Bynington?" I gasped. 
 
 "Si, senor." 
 
 "Is that his wife with him, and who did he 
 marry ?" I asked, with growing anxiety. 
 
 "Nina ! she first married antiguo hombre Are- 
 gave." 
 
 "Aregave was very wealthy, was he not?" I asked. 
 
170 A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 
 
 "Mucho, mucho! He died, and Nina gave all 
 the antiguo humbra's money to his poor relatives; 
 only kept her own, senor, and this ranch she in- 
 herited from her father. All the same as un 
 infante. When she returned with el senor Byn- 
 ington, she was for a long time sad and heart- 
 broken, and the happy smile did not return. I 
 cannot see why she should be so, though, because 
 any muger ought to be glad to exchange an old 
 hombre for a young one. But she seemed to do 
 more silent grieving than if she had killed him. 
 I never liked him, senor. No I. Bynington, 
 kind and good " 
 
 "So they live here?'' said I, interrupting the 
 dame. 
 
 "Si, senor they pass the time running cattle, 
 and he writes." 
 
 "Whose child is this?" I asked, referring to the 
 pretty little girl with its father's and mother's face, 
 blended into one. 
 
 "O, this is little Nina ! their 's, senor la hija 
 she is a sweet little child and was born here, on 
 the ranch, like her mother before her. I have 
 nursed them both. Ellos aman amen ellos." 
 
 I am not giving to kissing other people's chil- 
 dren; but the temptation was so strong, and my 
 heart was so full, that I had to take this dear little 
 girl in my arms and kiss her sweet face for her 
 own sake and for the sake of her mother. 
 
A CHANGE WITH THE SEASONS 171 
 
 After saying "A mas ver, senora" to the old 
 dame, and receiving a hearty "A Dios, senor" 
 in return, I departed in silence, and had many sad 
 and contradictory thoughts as I took my way 
 across the grassy stretch of cactus, mescal and 
 far-pointing cereus. My heart was full, and I do 
 not know why my eyes filled with moisture. 
 
 Buried from the world on the desert; they have 
 gone back to primitive life, and are following first 
 principles. It is just as well. 
 
 While waiting for the train I picked up a San 
 Francisco paper and read the headlines of "A 
 Great Sensation Mrs. Cloyd Landers has Sued 
 Her Husband for a Divorce Mr. Landers is again 
 at the Keeley Cure." 
 
 THE END.