The field glass : gyspsying

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THE FIELD QLASS

GYPSYI NG

G. M.

DENRltH

CMUA VWA.

DENRICH PRESS

Chula Vista, California

1917

Copyright 1918

by
Denrich Press

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"GIPSYING"

\<y

perched here on the edfce of the sea-

I

E went just because,
when we tried to leave
him in the lobby of the
hotel, he had smiled with
a shade of wistfulness
(discernible to the ladies)
and said, with one hand
on Gasoline's shoulder, "I
shall be a bit lonely out
in this strange and ungod-
ly country. It would
make me very happy to
have you all here with

I me.

So what would you?
Every Californian has a
warm spot in his heart
somewhere, — even your
real estate a&ent; and we
feel responsible for the
tenderfoot. Besides, he

The Field Gla

ss

was a Philadelpliian and a very superior
bein&, and The Cautious Lady's third
cousin by marriage. ("Some close re-
lationship!" Gasoline commented lacon-
ically. "Third Cousin must feel that
he is in the bosom of his family."
Somehow the disrespectful name stuck,
in spite of The Cautious Lady's reproof
and the amused protest of the gentle-
man in question.)

We therefore packed our suitcases
and drove over to the hotel, trying,
more or less successfully to fei&n the
manner of millionaires. "Only," said
Gasoline, "I don't like to be taken for
the chauffeur."

At dinner that ni&ht VG wished to
know quite suddenly why Third Cousin
thought our country "ungodly."

"Because," he smiled, "I feel it in my
bones that I am &oing> to be bewitched,
totally against my will and better judg-
ment. I have always been told that
Californians were liars; and, to tell the
truth, I expected as much from the pre-
posterous claims in your advertising
stuff. No spot could be as perfect as
you say this is. But now that you have
&ot me here, and hustled me across the

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bay into this strip of loveliness, a para-
dise of trees and flowers perched here
on the ed&e of the sea, where by all the
rules of nature there ou&ht only to be
sand and rocks, I be&in to suspect that
it is not deception that you practice, but
the black art."

"There is a sort of witchcraft about
southern California, " laughed The
Cautious Lady. "I felt it when I first
came. But years a&o I ceased to stru&&le
against it. It doesn't really hurt one,
you know."

"So you like the hotel?" The Man of
Affairs asked.

Third Cousin spread out his hands.
"I sit here in hopeless admiration,"
he said. "We simply do not do this
sort of thin& in the east. There a hotel
is a hotel, and here — "

"And here," The Man of Affairs
went on, "it is more like one of your
best clubs back home, — at least this one
is. You do not &et the hotel atmosphere
at all, you observe."

"Why no," he agreed, "neither in the
perfect service you &et nor in the whole
effect of the place. Just take this room,
for example. What wild whim ever

The Field Glas

prompted a business man to spend on
this woodwork the thousands that it
must have cost? The thought is stag&er-
in&. And all for droves of people who
doubtless seldom look above their
plates."

We sat at one end of the lon& dining
room, the door by which we had enter-
ed preposterously far away. VG raised
her eyes to the solid paneling of the
walls and ceiling, darkening slowly
with a&e. "It is rather fine," she said.

We who live in San Die&o take Hotel
del Coronado as a matter of course.
("Perfect mouthful of a name!" Third
Cousin had grumbled with a wry face
as we came over on the ferry.) It lies
spread out across the bay, self-satisfied,
resplendent, something to be accepted
placidly like the courthouse or the street-
car system. We know that it is the
center of our social doings; that the
newspapers would pine and languish
without it. We take it as a matter of
course that our charity balls should be
held there and our fashionable musicales;
that the place should swarm delightfully
at all times with youn& officers and old
officers; that the ferry should be filled

The Field GJas

with the bi& silent cars of wealthy peo-
ple stopping at the hotel, leaving scant
room for our ice wagons and little Fords;
that all the youn& people in town who
are smart or wish to be flock over to
Coronado to watch the tennis, &olf , and
polo, in the happy belief that they are
thereby rubbing elbows with the smart
set; that all year through the newspapers
should chronicle the arrival and publish
in delightfully ' informal fashion the
doin&s of all manner of exhiliratin&
people,f rom English noblemen to Indiana
novelists and sportsmen from Honolulu.
But as to the place itself and what it is
really like, we seldom &ive it a thought.

Something of this we conveyed to
Third Cousin, as well as the perfunctory
information that the hotel had been built
some thirty years a&o, — when San Die&o
was still a stru&&lin&, booming little piece
of insignificance, — with &reat difficulty
and at a stupendous cost; and that ever
since then the town had been endeavor-
ing to live up to it.

Third Cousin laughed. "It is doin&
very well," he conceded.

It was in the tea garden that afternoon
that he asked a question that all tourists

" — you can walk-

The Field Glass

ask as a matter of form. (The tea garden,
by the way, moved him to genuine rav-
ing,. "A perfect Japanese fairyland!" he
exclaimed. "How were they ever ahle to
make a thin& so exquisite?") "And
what do people do here in their spare
moments?" he asked.

We replied somewhat in unison.

"You can swim, in the plunge, the
ocean, and the bay," I be&an; "you have
only to cross the road from one to the
other. And you can &o yachting, rowing,
canoeing, motor boating, bi-planing,, or
aqua-planing on the bay — "

' 'Or &o in for fishing, ' ' went on Gasoline,
"all kinds, from dabbling off the pier
here to real deep sea fishing out beyond
the point. Tuna, and all that."

"And you can walk and dance," VG
went on with the list, "or &o over to the
country club, and play polo, &olf, and
tennis. We have some corking matches.
McLaughlin—"

"Or ride horseback," I droned on.

Third Cousin raised his hands in dis-
may. "My dear children!" he protested.
"I am super-middle-a&ed. These things
are not for me."

VG started to tell him crisply that if

■to dawdle in the checkered sunli&ht of the patio-

The Field 01a$$

he would use his eyes a bit he would see
that in this part of the world they are
for much older men; hut The Cautious
Lady interposed soothingly, "Or you can
&o over to San Die&o — it takes only
twenty minutes — and shop, or visit the
Exposition and the parks, and attend
concerts and the theatre, and some of
the really fine lectures — "

Her last word started The Man of
Affairs. "Or," he said hastily, "you can
lounge around the hotel ri&ht here. It s
darned comfortable, you know." He
loved to dawdle in the checkered sun-
light of the patio with a magazine and a
comfortable chair. "You can read here,
and write letters in some peace. Or sit
on the verandah and listen to the orches-
tra. Then, when you want to, you can &o
into the casino for bowling and billiards.
Just make yourself at home generally,
you know. This is one place where you
are allowed to, and nobody bothers or
stands around staring."

We lapsed into silence, more or less
winded. But still Third Cousin look-
ed vaguely unsatisfied. After a pause
Gasoline remarked mildly, "And of
course you can always motor.' '

The Field Glass

Third Cousin turned, a &leam of sud-
den interest in his eye. "Motor? Yes," he
exclaimed, "but is there any place to &o?"

Is there any place to &o, with over
four thousand miles of the most beautiful
roads in the country at our very door!
We shouted aloud in the joy of our dis-
covery. He was a kindred spirit. We
could &et out the car and take to the
trail a&ain, showing him our old haunts,
exploring new ones, making him an ex-
cuse for the thin& we wanted most to do.

'—and take to the trail afcain-

II

OUT by the old mission we sat in
the weeds at the top of the hill
and &azed at the poor tumbledown
thin&. The first of the chain, it has a
ri&ht, I suppose, to its look of unhappy
old a&e. The crumbling walls still retain
some measure of their charm; but unless
the restorer hurries he will find only a
heap of adobe.

We were on our way to Linda Vista,
and had only paused a moment for a
glimpse at this, San Die&o's oldest land-
mark. Once more on out through Murphy
Canon, we told Third Cousin something
of San Die&o's enthusiasm over the can-
tonment. At first it was a bit of a
disappointment. Camp Kearny then was
only a &reat smear of dust against the
sky, darkened by the swearing workmen
and lon& lines of mules. By October, we
were told, it would be transformed, and
thousands of youn& Americans mi&ht
be seen training to serve their colors.

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Handkerchiefs to noses, we departed
ri&ht gladly, and turned over to the coast
and La Jolla, where Third Cousin was
entranced with the cliffs and dark caves.
The latter, he said, were not unlike the
Blue Grotto at Capri. We had heard
this comparison before, hut it always
pleases us. Standing hi&h up on one of
the cliffs, we watched the thrones of
bathers in the sheltered cove below. La
Jolla has a little colony that is loyal all
through the year; but in summer the
place swarms.

Hurrying back to the hotel, woefully
late for lunch, we were almost annoyed
at Third Cousin's interest in the adobe
hut and ruins scattered through Old
Town. We did point out to him the old
Estudillo house, where Ramona was
married, but regretted our &raciousness
the next moment, for he would stop.
While the rest of us sat outside and
laughed at the sad-eyed Mexican chil-
dren that at a word of encouragement
clambered happily over the machine,
The Cautious Lady took him in and
showed him the old Spanish house and
garden, typical of California in another
day and a&e. Though the place is some-

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thin& of a museum now, it has not lost its
atmosphere. It was quite as interesting
to him as Tia Juana, the little Mexican
town across the border, where we took
him not many days later. (The bumpy,
rutty roads there may have discolored
his vision.) He &ave only a passing glance
at the bi& race track where, during the
season, there is a &ood bit of gaiety, and
perchance wickedness, of a sort. All the
way back to the hotel we told him lurid
stories of opium smu£&lin& and the dark
midnight activity of the police. But he
was unimpressed, and showed more in-
terest in the idea of a bath and a change
of linen.

"This hotel is so peaceful and quiet
that I would hardly know another &uest
was here," he said contentedly, later in
the evening, as he joined us in the
patio.

"That is partly because of size,1' said
The Cautious Lady. "Here, for instance,
there may be a dozen or more people in
this court besides ourselves for all we
know." As a matter of fact we heard a
woman's occasional lau&h from the other
side of the bi& garden, and the &low of
a ci&ar through the trees. But our little

entranced with the cliffs-

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&roup was left unnoticed and undis-
turbed.

"I take it that the place is patronized
mainly by elderly people?" Third Cousin
queried after a time.

"Come into the ballroom and see,1'
VG su^ested.

It was Saturday and there was danc-
ing. Elderly people most certainly there
were, fox trotting and sitting in the sun-
parlor surrounding the hu&e circular
floor; but there were more pretty &irls
and tall youn& officers.

Third Cousin showed so much interest
in the latter that we took him next day
up to the naval training camp at the
Exposition. As we went over on the
ferry we pointed out to him North
Island, lyin& across the bay from San
Die&o, and told him of the government
aviation school there, and of how a vast
deal of attention was bein& centered on
the place in war circles. Social circles,
too, I mi&ht have added, but thought
better of it. At all hours the hum of the
aeroplanes can be heard, flying over the
bay and city. San Die&ans no longer so
much as raise their eyes to watch them.

The whole town swarms with soldiers

The Field Glass

and sailors; for, as VG remarked, there
are five bi& camps of them here, all
within a radius of twenty miles. Those
that are quartered in the Exposition
grounds will not soon forget their luck.
Third Cousin wandered through the
place for hours; we could not pull him
away. He seemed to find all San Die&o's
parks charming, perhaps because they
are not formal or too highly cultivated.
"You are wise not to try to do the sort
of thin& that we do in the eastern
parks," he said; "for though you could
do it quite as well and perhaps better,
we could not do this at all."

His remark somehow reminded us
of Grossmont, where most certainly
people have done something unlike
the east. There celebrities do not flock
together and build their perches on a
ru&&ed mountain, hi&h above comfort-
able mankind, putting themselves to no
end of bother just for the sake of the
view. Without more ado we drove out
with him and made the climb, noting
that Madame Schumann-Heink peered
from her back window as we passed.
The road is &ood, and one ascends and
descends by different routes, a fact

The Field Glass

which cheered the Cautious Lady more
than a little.

At the summit we must needs climb
the last hi&h boulder, &lad of the hand
rail that helped us up the slippery thin&.
From the top we saw the country spread
for miles on all sides of us; the lovely
little lotus-filled lake at the foot of the
hill, on through El Cajon valley to the
mountains beyond; and, to the west
and south, the ocean and the Mexican
hills.

"I should like to come up here some-
time during a heavy rain," VG mused
at length, eyes half closed. Gasoline
started the car. 'You'll come on foot
then," he said grimly.

■that helped us up the slippery thin&."

'—still standing sturdily on the highest bit of ground"

Ill

TH E moon was full the ni&ht we
saw the youn& theosophists play
"A Midsummer Ni&ht's Dream."
The brilliant lights of the little temple
that served as sta&e were hardly needed.
We had seen the play before in this
same luminous setting, with these same
beautiful youn& actors; but we sat
forward tensely in our seats until the
last fairy had danced out of si&ht down
the canon. Not till then did Third Cousin
move. "I can never see it a&ain under a
roof," he said.

The Greek theatre is smaller than the
hu&e one at Berkeley; but it is, if possi-
ble, even more exquisitely beautiful in
its setting of vivid &reen, with the ocean
booming up through the canon. The
international headquarters of the theoso-
phists are at Point Loma; — beautiful
:>uildin&s, and acres of still more beauti-
ful grounds. There they conduct their
schools and colleges and brin& up their

The Field Glass

children, tending quite strictly to tkeir
own business, receiving all visitors
graciously and freely, but keeping their
own counsel pretty much.

"Let their tenets alone," the Cautious
Lady replied to Third Cousin's first
question. "They help to make life
lovely."

As we waited for the lon& line of
machines ahead of us to &et into motion,
he cleared his throat and spoke almost
hesitatingly. "Would you think me very
much of an old fool," he said, " if I asked
you to drive out to the end of the point
with me a&ain tonight? "

We had taken him there one afternoon
a week or more before, and his very
silence had shown the depth of his im-
pression. The experience moves one, but
not to words. On three sides of the hu&e
cliff the water had flittered in the sun,
an illimitable stretch of blue. Across
the bay the city had risen in the pale
tints of a Jules Guerin print, the moun-
tains behind it piled ran&e upon ran&e
until the Cuyamacas faded into haze.

Tonight the road was bewitched by
moonlight, and the old lighthouse, still
standing sturdily on the highest bit of

The Field Glass

ground, seemed pure white against the
blackness of the cliffs. Its modern suc-
cessor winks its colored lights out over
the water from a spot close down to the
shore, at the foot of the point.

We stood at the ed&e of Suicide Cliff
(some dark story must &o with the name)
and looked down over the bay. A steam-
er was rounding the point, and the
harbor was full of lighted craft of various
sorts. We had little difficulty in picking
out the hotel and the lon& string of
twinkling lights that meant Tent City.
In the other direction, far out in the
ocean, we could just see the dark specks
of fishing boats, — a &reat fleet of them.
Next morning, if we chanced to wake
early and glance out of our bedroom
windows, we mi&ht see them coming in
through the fb&.

We were almost home before Third
Cousin spoke. "You have not exaggerat-
ed that drive, "he said; and added, perhaps
half a mile farther, "I suppose you would
if you could."

•celebrated its hundredth anniversary that month."

IV

LITTLE Pala Mission celebrated its
hundredth anniversary that month.
For three days and nights the
Indians and their white friends prayed,
feasted, and danced in honor of the event,
while newspaper reporters walked ahout
and moving picture men turned their
cameras.

All day lon& we had rubbed elbows
with dirty Indians, sticky, perspiring,
smelling frightfully of garlic and other
strange Mexican things; first in the rude
little chapel where rather Doyle con-
ducted the service, the Indians kneeling
devoutly on the floor, while two dozen
or more Americans, some fashionable,
some curious, others sympathetic, stood
in a &roup by the door; then, at the
barbecue, where The Cautious Lady
shuddered and Third Cousin was amused,
but at least the Indians and their dofes
were happy; and later, when Juan Sotelo
Culac, the Rincon Indian feather dancer,

The Field Glass

did his la ta-ta-huila in the middle o£ a
dusty circle of stamping,, &rowlin&, chant-
ing Indians, pressing forward in one
&reat breath-destroying mass.

Warm we were, and dirty; but the
experience was worth such slight dis-
comforts, — though The Cautious Lady
pronounced the baby show a distinct
disappointment, and took more interest
in photographing the indifferent grand-
mother of one of the sticky contestants.

We drove down to Vista that ni&ht;
the seventy miles into San Die&o would
have too lon& delayed the hot wa-
ter and soap we needed. At the clean
cool inn we tumbled into bed like sleepy
puppies, and ate next morning a well-
nifeh incapacitating breakfast.

we had draped Third Cousin up to
Pala without apology or excuse, setting
our alarms for four o'clock, and hurry-
ing out in the chill of early morning in
order to be in time for hi&h mass at the
quaint little chapel. We expected him to
be interested but hardly enthusiastic;
for there is nothing spectacularly beauti-
ful about the trip. But something of the
ma&ic in the clear air, or the sweet tan&
of the shrubs &rowin& in the winding

r*pr "%r

"—indifferent grandmother of a sticky contestant.'

TJie Field Glass

river valleys, or the dense tangle of
California growth throu&h which the
road sometimes cut, must have &ot into
his hlood; for all the next day he asked
questions ahout our back country and
the mountains.

Since he was really interested, we
took him over to San Luis Rey, at one
time the most flourishing of the missions.
Though it has been restored and is quite
prosperous, it is still beautiful; and the
graveyard has happily been left un-
touched.

A barefooted Mexican friar guided us
through the building, showing us a few
of the relics of the place, a little book
of Father Peyri's, and some of the hu£e
old choir missals, beautifully illuminated
on parchment, and heavily studded with
brass. ("They look like hope chests!" I
heard VG hiss into The Cautious Lady's
ear. Our &uide caught the last words
and smiled pleasantly. uYe-es, a small
trunk," he agreed.)

Brother Giles was most courteous and
patient with us, a rather talkative and
heedless &roup of pilgrims, I am afraid.

That ni&ht, back once more at the ho-
tel, as we drank our coffee in the lobby

Brother Giles almost escaped from the picture.

The Field Glass

and listened to the music coming from
the mezzanine floor above, we wondered
what had become of Third Cousin. He
had disappeared since dinner, and it
was not until late in the evening that
he joined us a&ain.

"I have just made a most extraordinary
discovery," he said, seeking, to surprise
us with something we had known all
along,. "The gentleman I have been talk-
ing to so much is John Hernan, the
manager of this hotel. Such a thin& had
not occurred to me. A most interesting
man, with original ideas about his work;
I like him. Did you know that the
Montessori school here at the hotel is
his own project?"

"That is only one of the many things
he does for the youngsters," The Cautious
Lady replied. "I wish that you could be
here in the winter and see the Christmas
tree that he has for all the children in
Coronado, small Japanese and negroes
as well as poor little rich girls'. The de-
light they take in being, all mixed up
together is amusing. As a rule I pity
hotel children. Poor little things! Rest-
less, bored, missing all the wholesome
side of life. But here it is very different;

The Field GJas

the little ones can be quite happy and
healthy. Really, I can truthfully say that
I have never seen another hotel where
I would be willing to keep a small child
for a week."

"Yet the little pests never seem to be
around," The Man of Affairs breathed
thankfully.

"Good enough reason why," VG
answered with indignation. "They are
off enjoying themselves where they
can't be contaminated by &rown-ups."

"A hotel manager with ideals,"
Third Cousin mused, still thinking of
Mr. Hernan.

"You will find a few such here in
California," The Cautious Lady told him;
"men who &et the best out of their work.
They are often of widely different types.
I hope you can meet more of them
before you &o back; Frank Miller of the
Mission Inn, Edward Davis at Mesa
Grande. They are sometimes scholars
as well as gentlemen."

Third Cousin was impatient to be&in
preparations for our back country wan-
derings (albeit hopelessly ignorant in the
matter of machines and California trav-
el); and with the aid of road maps secured

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from Mr. Hernan (who is more than
kind to the motor enthusiasts stopping
at the hotel, — and there are many of
them, asking for all sorts of favors; the
hiring, of machines for them at the &ar-
a£e, the making of reservations at the
various wayside inns), we laid plans and
discussed routes far into the ni&ht.

V

WE &ot into the mountains lon&
before the first freshness of the
morning was &one. After one
&ood &rade, that lifted us suddenly hi&h
ahove the placid farming country we had
just come through, we sniffed a heady
freshness in the air that made us happy
in the mere feel of the road beneath us
and the spread of the sky ahove. To
rush pell-mell at our wanderings in this
headlong fashion is not much like the
feypsyin& of our sometime ancestors.
But perhaps the spirit of the thin& is
less modernized than the flesh.

Stopping at the Willows to fill our
thermos bottles at the spring and ex-
change jokes with the &ood natured
Walkers, we cast an appreciative eye
at the dense shade of the bi& oaks; but
it could not tempt us from the open
road. On up Veijas &rade we hurried
quite heedlessly, little caring what hap-
pened if we but made the real mountains

— in the mere feel of the road beneath us-

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and the bi& trees first. I suppose The
Cautious Lady cared; hut nothing did
happen.

There may he those who cannot sense
the almost delirious charm of Descanso
and the Cuyamaca mountains. Poor weak
spirits; let them &o! I imagine San Die&o
is full of old salts who cannot hear to
leave the sea for an hour. But there are
some few living creatures ohsessed with
a craving for hoth extremes. They ou&ht
surely to live in San Die&o, where the
ocean is in si&ht, and the mountains in
reach of their feet.

There are several bi& tree-shadowed
ranches at Descanso, where one may
stop for an hour or a month. (Usually
the former time, with lon&in&s after the
latter.) But Mr. Hernan had had a lunch
put up for us at the hotel, — such an ex-
travagant, toothsome lunch; and we knew
quite well that, no matter how lon& we
mi&ht be delayed by engine trouble or
possible blowouts, we would eat at
Cuyamaca. As a matter of fact we
reached the lake quite easily by noon;
but, wavering helplessly amon& a dozen
or more tempting spots, we finally kept
on to a certain hi&h, not-far-distant place

The Field Glass

we knew, where one may sit in the dry
&rass heside the road and look down on
the Salton Sea, a mere shimmer in the
distance. We sat there, peaceful, loath
to move, until driven forth by a sudden
stream of hu&e red ants. They would, I
am convinced, turn up inopportunely
in Paradise!

Loving the Cuyamacas too much to
deface them or risk the destruction of
even one old sycamore or towering
pine, we burned all our trash, forcing
Gasoline to squat in the road with the
canvas water ba& until the last ember
of our lovely lunch had been extin-
guished. (We tell this not to laud
ourselves, but to encourage others to
like uprightness!)

We passed through Julian, the apple
country, — but it was too late for the
blossoms and too early for the apples, —
and stopped for fresh water at Pine
Hills Lod&e, where we had difficulty in
&ettin& VG away; for she scurried
about madly with sketchbook and
kodak, in despair at bein& torn from
so much &ood copy. (She says that
word does not apply to an artist's
profession.)

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It is heartbreaking to be dashed help-
lessly from one delight to another. The
way to travel through this country is
on foot, with a pack mule somewhere
discreetly in the background. Neither
Gasoline nor The Man of Affairs agrees
in this view. And Third Cousin looked
scornful. "Walk," he protested, "in a
country like this? Why, it's a motor
paradise. I had no idea that we
would find such perfect mountain roads.
Poway — that is the name of the amaz-
ing &rade you took me over last week,
is it not? — is a triumph of engineering."

To tell the truth, we are proud of
our roads in this county.

We had half thought of &oin& on to
Warner's Hot Springs that ni&ht, though
the ladies voted determinedly for Mesa
Grande. Gasoline, with a masculine de-
sire to explore new fields, held out for
Warner's until I remarked somewhat
disingenuously that Mesa Grande was
cherry country.

We &ot to Powam Lod&e in the lon&-
shadow time of the afternoon, when
everything was glorified, and quite fell
in love before we had time to feet out
of the car with Prince, the fat old collie,

'—scurried about madly—'

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who keeps his nose skinned di&&in& for
squirrels, but takes time to meet every
&uest with &rave hospitality. Fine old
fellow; it would be unendurable not to
find him there. But that is how one feels
about everything at Powam Lod&e.

Third Cousin stared incredulously
at the polished floors, the beautiful ru&s,
the &rand piano, the books and maga-
zines. To find hot and cold water and a
perfect dining room service at a lod&e
some sixty miles in the mountains as-
tounded him. "I wish you could see
some of the country inns we have to
put up with at home! " he exclaimed.

He had protested warnin&ly against
bein& kept overnight at "some miserable
shack of a hotel". "I think you can be
comfortable at Powam Lod&e," The Man
of Affairs had replied mildly. We
explained in due time one of the pecul-
iarities of southern California, the fact
that scattered throughout the country,
however far one may penetrate, there
are inns or public ranch houses, comfort-
able, clean, hospitable, — some of them
masterpieces of ima&ination,?as at Mesa
Grande.

When we went up to our rooms that

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nig>ht we found in each of them baskets
of the bi& red mountain cherries, with
cards bearing our names, the ^ifts of
the owner and his charming wife. Third
Cousin was speechless. 'Where do
people learn to do such gracious thin&s,"
he cried. "Is there something in the air
here that makes them &row differently,
or is it really ma&ic?"

I should have eaten those cherries
had I died for it!

Mr. Davis is the Indian man of the
county; not because he isn't a perfectly
upright American, but because he, more
than any other not of their own race,
knows the • Indians and understands
them, and can make them come to him
and obey like little children. One can
learn much of history and of psychology
at his lod&e.

Considerably before we were ready
to leave we took to the road a&ain, and
were plunged forthwith onto an aston-
ishing &rade of such surpassing loveli-
ness that The Cautious Lady's natural
fears were lost in delight, and only
once did she recollect herself in time
to &et out and walk over a bad turn.
Gasoline was unnecessarily amused.

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He acted as if he, and not the Almighty,
had put something over on her.

At the foot of the &rade, when we
had crossed the Santa Ysabel creek, we
stopped to let Gasoline rest. He had
driven us at a snail's pace, with his foot
on the brake, for fourteen lon& miles.
Those who are poor-spirited and craven
and prefer smooth comfort to esthetic
delight may fco to Mesa Grande by an-
other route!

We went on down through Ramona,
a hot little hole (beg&in& the forgiveness
of the inhabitants), and the dense tangle
of San Pasqual canon beyond, where
Kit Carson's men fought their battle
with the Mexicans; a wild spot, full of
poison oak and rattlers, mayhap, but
lovely!

We did not stop at Escondido, a
thriving little town in the middle of a
pretty valley, but went on to Vista for
lunch (we are &ettin& into the habit of
eating there), with an eye to the cool
breeze that always filters up that valley.

You see, we had gradually been
working back to the coast. I sniffed its
salt on our return with the same joy with
which we had greeted the mountains.

'—meet Spanish romance — '

VI

SO O N E R or later we a&ain drifted
up to the Mission Inn. Third Cousin
Jiad to see it, — although he did not
know that! We wanted him to walk in
unwarned, as we once had. Well, the
experiment was successful. We saw
Philadelphia decorum meet Spanish
romance and &o down before it.

While he wandered ahout, satisfied
hut inarticulate, we undertook to see a
hit of the surrounding country this
time. Riverside never allows itself to
&o to seed. The lovely drives, the
parks, the orchards, the city streets are
all in order. But I like our own country
better; I should miss its wildness and
ru^edness at Riverside.

One evening just before dinner
Gasoline, VG, and I climbed Mount
Rubidoux. We started out decorously
enough in the machine; but following a
sudden whim of VG's left it at the foot
of the &rade and scrambled up the trail

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that short cuts to the top in some twen-
ty minutes. The machine road offers
one of the easiest climbs in the state, I
fancy. It is wide and smooth, with a
comforting little stone fence at the ed&e.
But that evening we felt like playing
pilgrim.

While one climbs it, Rubidoux is a
scra^&y thing, like any other California
mountain; but at the top it emerges sud-
denly in a splendid pile of rock. We sat
for a lon& time at the foot of the cross,
watching the valleys around us change
under the sunset.

The cross is for Father Serra; and
&ettin& up to &o, we read its inscription
in the fading li&ht:

Fra Junipero Serra
1713-1784

Dedicated
April 26, 1907

By

Rt. Rev. Thomas James Conaty

Bishop of Monterey and Los Angeles

In the presence of

Many People.

—emerged suddenly in a splendid pile of rocks.

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All &ood thin&s come to an end, and
one clear morning we started for Los
Angeles, feeling very pleasantly toward
the world. But through some mistake, —
I dare not even yet say whose, — we
blundered onto the wron& road; and not
until we reached Claremont did we
manage to turn over to the Foothill
Boulevard, that entrancing stretch of
perfect highway heloved of speeders
and timid people (for somewhat different
reasons!). By that time we were quarrel-
ing quite violently. Words ran hi&h. It
was a &ood quarrel, the first we had had
since Third Cousin joined us. We
enjoyed it.

We went on to Los Angeles not
speaking, less appreciative of the charms
of Pasadena than we mi&ht otherwise
have been! But at luncheon we were
revived somewhat.

The Cautious Lady loathes Los
An&eles. She hates its noise and con-
fusion, its narrow streets, its reckless
drivers, its peculiar traffic laws and
indifferent policemen. We did not linger
there.

But it was fairly late in the day,
nevertheless, when we started; for VG

"Pretty fair," we agreed easily —

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had delayed us in the pursuit of various
small feminine necessities, the purchas-
ing of which she went about with &reat
cheerfulness and leisure. Trusting that
speed cops and arrest were remote possi-
bilities, Gasoline gradually sank lower
in his seat and indulged to the full his
lon& repressed desire, — though with
one incredulous ear turned toward the
hack seat, where The Cautious Lady
for once was sitting,. But she and
Third Cousin talked too busily to notice.
"She doesn't know how fast I'm
&oin& unless she sees the speedometer,"
grinned Gasoline, and speeded up an-
other notch.

"Uncommonly fine road,1 'Third Cousin
interrupted once to remark, when mile
after mile of the smooth highway had
slipped behind us.

"Pretty fair," we agreed easily, blase
on the subject of roads. To us, the coast
highway between Los Angeles and
San Die&o, marvelous as it is, with its
prosperous orchards and pretty towns,
is rather tame.

We stopped for a few minutes at
San Juan Capistrano, that loveliest of
the missions, &lad to have seen it before

—that loveliest of the missions-

-for a Touchstone and his Audrey—'

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dozen or so building sites up on the hill,
only to hear that it has already been
sold to some eastern millionaire or artist.

Del Mar roads ramble at will. We
wound about in them, lost to a sense of
direction, lost to a sense of everything
but our ever recurring, delight in the
cliffs and the ra^ed trees and the blue
water below us. Many spots have one
of these charms; Del Mar has them all.

All manner of houses are tucked
away amon& the trees; a tiny Japanese
affair plucked bodily from some art
shop; the squat and rambling California
bungalow at its best; a hu&e and formal
country residence done elaborately in
cement. And everywhere trees. One
woman has cut a hole in her roof that a
&reat old eucalyptus may &row on un-
disturbed. Would that all our city fathers
had her vision! In due time we took
Third Cousin over to the Stratford
Theatre, rejoicing in his exclamation of
surprise. Greek theatres, amphitheatres,
stadiums abound in southern California.
But Stratford is a spot set aside by
nature for pageantry, a perfect back-
ground for a Touchstone and his
Audrey. Man's work is hardly visible.

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"I should not stir one step from here,"
Third Cousin said almost regretfully at
luncheon, "if I had not come to think of
Coronado as home, and the hotel there
almost as my own. It's a deuced bother
to have so many places pulling at your
heartstrings at once. You should be

content with one And

they are so preposterously &ood to you
there," he added as we drove away,
looking hack at the bi& inn in its setting,
of &or&eous cannas.

Once more on our way into San Die&o,
we stopped for a moment at the top of
Torrey Pine &rade. To some, this friz-
zled cliff, with its freakish, wind-torn
trees, is one of the most loved spots in
the county.

The sun shone that morning! The
stretch of road between Del Mar and
La Jolla was a thin& to move one to
silence, poetry, or tears, according to
temperament. In the spring the hills are
&reen, and lovely with hu&e patches of
yellow mustard. But in August the
ocean is a deeper blue if possible, and
the Maxfield Parrish cliffs stand out
even more clearly against the sky.

VII

WE were down on tke breakwater.
The Cautious Lady, Third
Cousin, and I. We sat on the
rocks and watched the little &reen crabs
scrabbling, about in a pool at our feet.

"You will never for&et this place,"
she said.

"You need not remind me of that
fact," he replied sharply. "The memory
of it will haunt me until I come a&ain.
I shall be unfit for a man's work."

He had lingered on through the sum-
mer and fall, loathe to &o, running up I
dreaded to think how much of a bill.
We had &one on many jaunts into the
back country, or Mexico, or up the coast;
sometimes coming back to Coronado for
the ni&ht, sometimes staying away two
days, three days, a week.

Charmed and amazed at the climate,
he at first refused to believe that it
could be so perfect all through the year.

The Field Glass

But as the weeks passed he gradually
came to admit it.

"I never want to g,o back," he said. "I
shall have rheumatism all winter in
Philadelphia." He be&an to talk about
lots and the cost of building.

But now certain letters had come and
he was leaving on the afternoon train.

As we walked across the sand to the
hotel it may have been fancy of course,
but I thought he cleared his throat
unnecessarily hard as he looked back
over his shoulder toward Point Loma.

J

*r)

YC l'5!

♦>

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