He was not quite certain what he should say, but, after his habit, would trust to the inspiration of the moment.

At the worst he could resign a situation that now appeared to require more tact and delicacy than seemed consistent with his position, and he was obliged to confess to himself that he had lately suspected that his present occupation--the temporary expedient of a poor but clever young man of twenty--was scarcely bringing him nearer a realization of his daily dreams.

For Mr.Jack Ford was a youthful pilgrim who had sought his fortune in California so lightly equipped that even in the matter of kin and advisers he was deficient.

That prospective fortune had already eluded him in San Francisco, had apparently not waited for him in Sacramento, and now seemed never to have been at Indian Spring.
Nevertheless, when he was once out of sight of the school-house he lit a cigar, put his hands in his pockets, and strode on with the cheerfulness of that youth to which all things are possible.
The children had already dispersed as mysteriously and completely as they had arrived.

Between him and the straggling hamlet of Indian Spring the landscape seemed to be without sound or motion.