Everybody called it gold dust, and that conveyed an idea to me that it was fine as flour, but how to catch it I did not know.

I knew other people found a way to get it, and I knew I could learn if any body could.

It was a great longing that came to me to see some of the yellow dust in its native state, before it had been through the mint.
At the last meal I took at the house there were only a few at the table.
Among them was a well dressed Californian who evidently did not greatly fancy American cooking, but got along very well till Mrs.Brier brought around the dessert, a sort of duff.

This the Californian tasted a few times and then laid down his spoon saying it was no bueno, and some other words I did not then understand, but afterward learned that they meant "too much grease." The fellow left the table not well pleased with what we generally consider the best end of a Yankee dinner, the last plate.
While here I had slept in a small store room, where I made my pallet out of old rags and blankets.

While I was looking round for material to make my bed I came across a bag partly full of sugar, brought from Chili.