Small as was the range of the valley, it still allowed retreats during the dances for waiting couples among the convenient laurel and manzanita bushes which flounced the mountain side.  After the dancing, old-fashioned children’s games were revived with great laughter and half-hearted and coy protests from the ladies; notably one pastime known as “I’m a-pinin’,” in which ingenious performance the victim was obliged to stand in the centre of a circle and publicly “pine” for a member of the opposite sex.  Some hilarity was occasioned by the mischievous Miss “Georgy” Piper declaring, when it came to her turn, that she was “pinin’” for a look at the face of Tom Sparrell just now!

In this local trifling two hours passed, until the party sat down to the long-looked for repast.  It was here that the health of Judge Piper was neatly proposed by the editor of the “Argus.”  The judge responded with great dignity and some emotion.  He reminded them that it had been his humble endeavor to promote harmony—­that harmony so characteristic of American principles—­in social as he had in political circles, and particularly among the strangely constituted yet purely American elements of frontier life.  He accepted the present festivity with its overflowing hospitalities, not in recognition of himself—­("yes! yes!")—­nor of his family—­(enthusiastic protests)—­but of that American principle!  If at one time it seemed probable that these festivities might be marred by the machinations of envy—­(groans)—­or that harmony interrupted by the importation of low-toned material interests—­(groans)—­he could say that, looking around him, he had never before felt—­er—­that—­Here the judge stopped short, reeled slightly forward, caught at a camp-stool, recovered himself with an apologetic smile, and turned inquiringly to his neighbor.

A light laugh—­instantly suppressed—­at what was at first supposed to be the effect of the “overflowing hospitality” upon the speaker himself, went around the male circle until it suddenly appeared that half a dozen others had started to their feet at the same time, with white faces, and that one of the ladies had screamed.

“What is it?” everybody was asking with interrogatory smiles.

It was Judge Piper who replied:—­

“A little shock of earthquake,” he said blandly; “a mere thrill!  I think,” he added with a faint smile, “we may say that Nature herself has applauded our efforts in good old Californian fashion, and signified her assent.  What are you saying, Fludder?”

“I was thinking, sir,” said Fludder deferentially, in a lower voice, “that if anything was wrong in the reservoir, this shock, you know, might”—­

He was interrupted by a faint crashing and crackling sound, and looking up, beheld a good-sized boulder, evidently detached from some greater height, strike the upland plateau at the left of the trail and bound into the fringe of forest beside it.  A slight cloud of dust marked its course, and then lazily floated away in mid air.  But it had been watched agitatedly, and it was evident that that singular loss of nervous balance which is apt to affect all those who go through the slightest earthquake experience was felt by all.  But some sense of humor, however, remained.