too—­the Injuns call it a water-road—­an’ I can git on that an’ drift an’ drift an’ smell the wild syringa on the banks.  An if I git tired o’ that I can turn my horse up-grade an’ gallop right into the winter an’ the lonely pines an’ firs a-whisperin’ an’ a-sighin’.  Lonely?  Mountains lonely, did you say?  Oh, my mountains, my beautiful peaks, my Sierras!  God’s in the air here, sure!  You can see Him layin’ peaceful hands on the mountain tops.  He seems so near you want to let your soul go right on up.”

Johnson was touched at the depth of meaning in her words; he nodded his head in appreciation.

“I see, when you die you won’t have far to go,” he quietly observed.

Minutes passed before either spoke.  Then all at once the Girl rose and took the chair facing his, the table between them as at first.

“Wowkle, serve the coffee!” again she called.

Immediately, Wowkle emerged from the cupboard, took the coffee-pot from the fire and filled the cups that had been kept warm on the fireplace base, and after placing a cup beside each plate she squatted down before the fire in watchful silence.

“But when it’s very cold up here, cold, and it snows?” queried Johnson, his admiration for the plucky, quaint little figure before him growing by leaps and bounds.

“Oh, the boys come up an’ digs me out o’ my front door like—­like—­” She paused, her sunny laugh rippling out at the recollection of it all, and Johnson noted the two delightful dimples in her rounded cheeks.  Indeed, she had never appeared prettier to him than when displaying her two rows of perfect, dazzling teeth, which was the case every time that she laughed.

“—­like a little rabbit, eh?” he supplemented, joining in the laugh.

She nodded eagerly.

“I get digged out near every day when the mine’s shet down an’ Academy opens,” went on the Girl in the same happy strain, her big blue eyes dancing with merriment.

Johnson looked at her wonderingly; he questioned: 

“Academy?  Here?  Why, who teaches in your Academy?”

“Me—­I’m her—­I’m teacher,” she told him with not a little show of pride.

With difficulty Johnson suppressed a smile; nevertheless he observed soberly: 

“Oh, so you’re the teacher?”

“Yep—­I learn m’self an’ the boys at the same time,” she hastened to explain, and dropped a heaping teaspoon of coarse brown sugar into his cup.  “But o’ course Academy’s suspended when ther’s a blizzard on ’cause no girl could git down the mountain then.”

“Is it so very severe here when there’s a blizzard on?” Johnson was saying, when there came to his ears a strange sound—­the sound of the wind rising in the canyon below.

The Girl looked at him in blank astonishment—­a look that might easily have been interpreted as saying, “Where do you hail from?” She answered: 

“Is it . . .?  Oh, Lordy, they come in a minute!  All of a sudden you don’t know where you are—­it’s awful!”