When the stage began the ascent of the next hill, following the example of an outside passenger, he jumped down to walk.

At the top of the hill he rejoined the stage, flushed and panting, but carrying a small branch of the vine in his scratched hands.

Handing it to the man on the middle seat, he said, with grave, boyish politeness--"Please--for the lady." A slight smile passed over the face of Clarence's neighbors.

The bonnetless woman nodded a pleasant acknowledgment, and coquettishly wound the vine in her glossy hair.

The dark man at his side, who hadn't spoken yet, turned to Clarence dryly.
"If you're goin' to keep up this gait, sonny, I reckon ye won't find much trouble gettin' a man's suit to fit you by the time you reach Sacramento." Clarence didn't quite understand him, but noticed that a singular gravity seemed to overtake the two jocular men on the middle seat, and the lady looked out of the window.