Some fellow had pinned a page of 'Compensation' on the door of a cabin I struck one night when it was mighty good to find shelter,--the pines singing, snowstorm coming on.

That leaf was pretty well weather-stained; I carried it off with me and had it framed--hangs in my house now.

Another time I was doing California on horseback, and in an abandoned shack in the Sierras I found Emerson's 'Poems'-- an old copy that somebody had thumbed a good deal.

I poked it out of some rubbish and came near making a fire of it.

Left it, though, for the next fellow.
I've noticed that if one thing like that happens to you there's bound to be another.