was wise in itself, but which an older man would have hesitated over, and any man with anything in his motives to conceal would not have done. He went to "Auntie" Brown, and while that matron was getting an early breakfast, and her gossip-loving husband in the barn, he walked into the kitchen and in a few bold words explained the whole of his trouble and its complications, concluding:—
"Mrs. Brown, I have done nothing nor made any misrepresentations. I was a fool to be sure when I was kissing Nan Drew, and was by no means the first fool who did it, as you must know. Nan 's a good enough girl in her way, but a silly thing. I never thought of marrying her, nor said so to any one. I cannot explain the affair to Bessie; she won't hear me, and I don't see how I could, anyway. Girls are queer; still, I don't know that I can blame her so much; I suppose I shouldn't have liked it if the story had been from the other side. But I would have believed her, if she had told me anything I might have heard of her was not true."
"I don't know whether you would or not," said worldly-wise Mrs. Brown. "You would be different from most men if you did. I believe you are honest in what you say," she continued, " and my advice is for you to be as frank with Bessie as you have been with me. I can't say that you won't have any trouble, but I will say a good word for you when I can."
She gave him a merry smile and a cheery goodby when he rode away. That somewhat lightened his heart, but it was with many a backward glance that he watched the vast sea of hoary smoke where from the mountain beyond he could see its great extent.
Every day of the next six was full of the thought of Bessie, and he burned with impatience to get back. Annie Drew he ignored entirely, and even refused to go to a dance at Ellensburg the night he stayed there, which was a most unprecedented action on his part. His impatience grew greater during the last two days, and if he had known what was going on at the Riordans' and at Port Orford, his anxiety would have been greatly enhanced.
The air had grown hotter and the smoke more dense rapidly after that eventful Sunday; but still on Tuesday afternoon the most of the Port Orford people were sure there would be no danger for them. A great political meeting was to be held at Ellensburg the next day, and a large number of the men were going down to attend. The timid women of the household did not like to be left alone with the possibility of danger, but the men made fun of their fears and went anyhow.
Those left soon began to feel the need of some precaution, for that night the sky was lit with a broad glare until morning, and occasional bits of burning twigs would sail over our heads and out to sea. Daylight showed ashes covering everything like a fall of snow, mingled with myriads of blackened leaves and bits of wood. Lights in the houses had been necessary for several days, for the sun was but a dull red stain creeping across the copper sky, and giving an indescribable feeling of depression and menace. No cry of sea-birds on the sands, nor murmur of insect life in the air. The swallows and all other land-birds were silent, gone.
VI.
From the heads above the town flames could be seen, and early in the afternoon a strong wind from inland sprang suddenly out of the vast silence, whirling bits of fire with a deluge of cinders and ashes high overhead. They grew thicker fast, and soon were falling everywhere, as the wind grew stronger, whirling about in sweeping gusts, carrying dust, loose trash, and burning fragments
