“Miss Mary,” as she was known to the little flock that she had just dismissed from the log schoolhouse beyond the pines, was taking her afternoon walk.  Observing an unusually fine cluster of blossoms on the azalea-bush opposite, she crossed the road to pluck it, picking her way through the red dust, not without certain fierce little shivers of disgust and some feline circumlocution.  And then she came suddenly upon Sandy!

Of course she uttered the little staccato cry of her sex.  But when she had paid that tribute to her physical weakness she became overbold and halted for a moment—­at least six feet from this prostrate monster—­with her white skirts gathered in her hand, ready for flight.  But neither sound nor motion came from the bush.  With one little foot she then overturned the satirical headboard, and muttered “Beasts!”—­an epithet which probably, at that moment, conveniently classified in her mind the entire male population of Red Gulch.  For Miss Mary, being possessed of certain rigid notions of her own, had not, perhaps, properly appreciated the demonstrative gallantry for which the Californian has been so justly celebrated by his brother Californians, and had, as a new-comer, perhaps fairly earned the reputation of being “stuck up.”

As she stood there she noticed, also, that the slant sunbeams were heating Sandy’s head to what she judged to be an unhealthy temperature, and that his hat was lying uselessly at his side.  To pick it up and to place it over his face was a work requiring some courage, particularly as his eyes were open.  Yet she did it and made good her retreat.  But she was somewhat concerned, on looking back, to see that the hat was removed, and that Sandy was sitting up and saying something.

The truth was, that in the calm depths of Sandy’s mind he was satisfied that the rays of the sun were beneficial and healthful; that from childhood he had objected to lying down in a hat; that no people but condemned fools, past redemption, ever wore hats; and that his right to dispense with them when he pleased was inalienable.  This was the statement of his inner consciousness.  Unfortunately, its outward expression was vague, being limited to a repetition of the following formula:  “Su’shine all ri’!  Wasser maar, eh?  Wass up, su’shine?”

Miss Mary stopped, and, taking fresh courage from her vantage of distance, asked him if there was anything that he wanted.

“Wass up?  Wasser maar?” continued Sandy, in a very high key.

“Get up, you horrid man!” said Miss Mary, now thoroughly incensed; “get up and go home.”

Sandy staggered to his feet.  He was six feet high, and Miss Mary trembled.  He started forward a few paces and then stopped.

“Wass I go home for?” he suddenly asked, with great gravity.

“Go and take a bath,” replied Miss Mary, eying his grimy person with great disfavor.

To her infinite dismay, Sandy suddenly pulled off his coat and vest, threw them on the ground, kicked off his boots, and, plunging wildly forward, darted headlong over the hill in the direction of the river.