It was perhaps a somewhat visionary expectation for an educated girl of eighteen, but I am writing of a young Californian girl, who had lived in the fierce glamour of treasure-hunting, and in whose sensitive individuality some of its subtle poison had been instilled.

Howbeit, to-day she found nothing.
She was sadly hiding her pick and shovel, as was her custom, when she discovered the fresh track of an alien foot in the sand.

Robinson Crusoe was not more astounded at the savage footprint than Jenny Miller at this damning proof of the invasion of her sacred territory.

The footprints came from and returned to the copse of shrubs.

Some one might have seen her at work! But a singular change in the weather, overlooked in her excitement, here forced itself upon her.