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amazement, gazing wide-eyed at the new

comer.

Suddenly Dolor Tripp stepped forward. 'Griscom Brothers!" she exclaimed. 'Yes,' said the little man, I am Griscom Brothers.'

In the name of common sense,' said Doris, please tell me what you two are talking about? Is this the pie ghost?'

'Yes, madam,' said Griscom Brothers. And not only pie but bread, both wheat and Boston-brown, with rye to order; cakes of all kinds, especially home-made ginger; and family bakings and roasts on reasonable terms. In a word - Griscom Brothers.'

Of the village over here,' added Dolor Tripp, in further explanation.

"Griscom Brothers,' said the butcher, in a tone of confident affirmation.

All this was as surprising to me as it was to the others. As for Lord Crabstairs, he stood up very straight with his feet wide apart, and stared at Griscom Brothers.

'Now, really! he exclaimed. It is Brothers, is it? And the ghost of a baker besides!'

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disturb the company by interrupting the story which the baker had just begun.

By the bright light of the fire I took a good look at Griscom Brothers. He ap5 peared to be about fifty years old, with a merry countenance, small eyes, grizzly side-whiskers, and below his white paper cap a little curly grizzly hair. It was plain that he liked to talk, and that he was well satisfied with his present position.

Now,' said he, looking from side to side, I know who you all are. You are the people from the schooner out here in the bay; and as I've told you who I am, we may call ourselves acquainted, and I'll go on and tell you about the ghost business without asking any questions of you; at least not now.

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I've often noticed,' said he, giving 20 himself a little twist in his chair, when a man sits down, fair and square, to tell a story, it happens time and again that the story don't step up to the mark as lively as it ought to; and when it does 25 show itself, it is n't as much of a story as it was expected to be. I should n't wonder if my story should be that way; but I'll take it by the nape of the neck and bring it right in, and let you folks see all there is of it.

'No, sir,' spoke up quickly the little man. I may be a baker ghost, but I'm not 30 the ghost of a baker; not yet.'

Are you two in one?' asked Lord Crabstairs. If not, where is the other one of you?'

'It was about twelve years ago, when my brother died and my family got to be only me, that I found I did n't get sleep enough. You see that being a baker I am obliged

My brother,' said the little man, who, 35 to go to my work very early in the mornwith me, gave our business its firm name, is not now living.'

Then, said Lord Crabstairs, Griscom Brothers is half dead, and has a right to be a half ghost.'

'Aha!' said the little man. That's about right. Half the time I'm a baker, and half the time a ghost. And now, then, if you folks care to hear all about it, I'm ready to talk.'

Care to hear!' said Dolor Tripp. I'm on pins and needles to hear!'

ing, mostly about three o'clock, and that if I don't get a good sleep in the first part of the night, it will tell on me. You know that sort of thing will tell on people. Now 40 the room I slept in after my family became so small was Mrs. Springer's second floor back, and every Tuesday night the Dorcas Society used to meet there, and them women kept up such a chattering from be45 fore dark to nobody knows how late at night, that I might as well try to make good bread of brick clay as to sleep; meaning no offense, of course,'-turning from one to the other of the ladies.- if either of you belongs to a Dorcas Society.'

The fire was now built up afresh, and again we placed ourselves on our chairs, stools, and boxes about the hearth, Gris- 50 com Brothers having a place in the middle, between Dolor Tripp and Doris. I happened to notice that in this arrangement the schoolmaster was left out, and was standing back of our half-circle. But as 55 the schoolmaster was evidently a humbleminded person and did not appear to object to his position, I thought it wise not to

Which I do not,' said Doris; and if I did I would n't mind.'

'Now, you see,' continued Griscom Brothers, when a man loses his night's sleep on one night in the week, he is very like to get into the habit of losing it; that's what I did, and could n't stand it. At that time this house was empty, the law having

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to it. Not long after you came I got to going over the house again, principally to see if the doors and windows were all shut and fastened. You was a little girl then, and you had a way of going out of doors after your sisters had gone to bed. You never thought of shutting up when you came back. When you got to be a big girl, and even a young woman, you did the same thing. So I kept on taking care of things.'

not decided who it belonged to, and it came into my head that it would be a good thing to come over here and sleep. There would be no Dorcas Society here, or anything else to disturb me. So here I came, finding it easy to get in at one of these kitchen windows; and I fixed up a bed in an upper room, and there I could sleep like a toad in a hole. Of course I did n't want to hurt Mrs. Springer's feelings, and I never said nothing to her about my not sleeping in the house. I went upstairs every night at my regular bedtime and I rumpled up the bed and went away, Mrs. Springer not knowing whether I left the house at three 15 o'clock in the morning or nine o'clock at night. You see I'm very spry at getting about without people seeing me; and to this day Mrs. Springer does n't know that for the last twelve years I have n't slept in 20' the p'int of it is this, when I was at Mrs. her house except on some very stormy nights.'

Paid for your room straight along, I guess,' remarked the butcher.

'Yes, sir! As I did n't pay nothing 25 here it was all right I should pay there. Well, after I had kept up this thing for two years, you and your sisters,' turning to Dolor Tripp, 'came here to live, and then you may be sure I had a hard nut to 30 crack. I had become so accustomed to this big, quiet house that I did n't believe I could sleep under any other roof, and so I said to myself, "I'll stay here, and these people sha'n't know it any more than Mrs. 35 Springer does." There's a loft over this kitchen which you can't get into except by that trap-door and a ladder, and so before you came here I put the ladder up into the loft, and put a bolt on the other side of the 40 trap-door, which kept me private. I knew you would n't want to use the loft, and I though I might as well have it as not.'

'And you've been sleeping there for ten years!' exclaimed Dolor.

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That's about the time,' said Griscom Brothers. I put everything into that room to make myself comfortable,- not your things, but my things,- and I got in and out through a little window in the 50 roof. There are some strips nailed on for a grapevine, and these I used for a ladder. I can go up and down in the darkest night just like stairs. I can get into the house just the same as I used to, be-55 cause the lock on the back door of the main house is one I put there myself, years ago, and of course, I've got a key

'It strikes me,' said Lord Crabstairs, who had been listening very attentively to the baker's story, that you had rather an odd way of getting a night's sleep. Rambling through a house and playing ghost is n't the way to refresh a man, I take it.'

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Now, you see,' said Griscom Brothers, Springer's I could n't sleep if I wanted to, but in this house I could go to my little room and sleep whenever I felt like it; that makes all the difference in the world.'

'Yes,' said the butcher; 'being able to do a thing is often just as much good to a person as doing it.'

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Now tell me another thing,' said Lord Crabstairs. What did you mean by that pumpkin tart?'

Tart!' exclaimed the baker. 'That's all right,' said the butcher. 'We tossed up, and tart it is.'

Griscom Brothers did not seem to understand, but he went on to explain.

'That was an ordered punkin pie. It is n't the season for that sort of thing, and nobody but me has got any punkins kept over. But old Mrs. Gormish ordered the pie for her grandchild's christening, but when they sent for Mr. Black he could n't come, and they had to have Mr. Startling. and he's a dyspeptic, and so the old lady sent word to me she did n't want no pie, and it was left on my hands. I always like to have something to eat before I start out in the early morning, so I brought this with me, for there is n't no call for them. When you people came into the kitchen I was fast asleep, but I jumped up quick enough and hurried down to see what was the matter. I was at the window seeing and listening to pretty nearly all you did and said; and when I heard you talking about being so hungry I thought of giving you that pie, and I locked the door to keep you in the kitchen until I thought I had done my duty by you.'

'You did it well,' said Doris, for that moment they were folded in a close emwas a good pie.' brace.

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"Well, then,' said his lordship, as we are pretty well dried and warmed, and as there is nothing more to eat, we might as 10 well be getting back to the ship.'

We all agreed that this was the proper thing to do, and we rose from our seats.

'Before you go,' said Griscom Brothers, addressing Dolor Tripp, 'I want to 15 settle one thing. Do you object to my staying on in that little loft, or must I go back to Mrs. Springer?'

I think,' said Dolor Tripp, 'that it would be much better for you to stay 20 where you are for the present. I am going to Boston, and when I come back I will speak to my sisters about it.'

Then I'll pack up my goods,' said Griscom Brothers, the day you come back, for I know what your sisters will say.'

As the baker finished speaking he turned suddenly, and his eyes fell upon the schoolmaster, who until this moment 30 had been keeping well in the background. For an instant the two gazed steadily at each other, then Griscom Brothers exclaimed, almost screamed:

'Johnny!'

The schoolmaster, with his long arms extended, rushed upon the other, and in a

The pie-ghost was the schoolmaster's father.

For a few moments nothing was said, and we gazed in amazement upon the embracing couple. Then the butcher beckoned us a little apart and said in a low voice:

That young man ran away from home more than twelve years ago. I didn't know him, for all that happened before I came to these parts, but I have often heard the story. I should n't wonder if he has been as much afraid of meeting his dad as of running afoul of Mrs. Bodship.' Griscom Brothers now stepped forward, holding his son by the hand.

Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'who could have thought it, that old Mrs. Gormish's punkin pie should have given me back my son! For if it had n't been that she threw the pie on my hands I should n't have brought it here, and if it had n't been here I should n't have tried to give it to you, and if I had n't done that you never would have ketched me, and if you had n't ketched me I should n't have known that my Johnny was with you.'

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It strikes me,' said Lord Crabstairs, that you ought to thank the clergyman who ate his meals so fast that he gave himself dyspepsia. If he had been able to eat pumpkin tarts you would n't have 35 found your son.'

The Century Magazine, January, 1890.

JOHN MUIR (1838-1914)

John Muir was the most picturesque and the most original member of the out-of-doors school of writers, excepting only Thoreau. He was Scotch born, migrating to America with his parents when he was eleven and settling with them in the wilderness of Wisconsin where he passed the rest of his boyhood. At length he was enabled to study at the University of Wisconsin. For four years he applied himself somewhat irregularly to the studies that he affected: then, as he himself expressed it, he wandered away on a glorious botanical and geological excursion, which has lasted nearly fifty years and is not yet completed, always happy and free, poor and rich, without thought of a diploma, of making a name, urged on and on through endless, inspiring, Godful beauty.' He walked all the way to Florida, crossed to Cuba, then, attacked by malaria, left the tropics, and walked the greater part of the way to California. The rest of his life he passed in the Yosemite region, the Sierras, the upper Rockies, and Alaska.

Muir began writing as early as 1871, sending studies of mountain scenery and phenomena to the New York Tribune, to the Overland, and to Harper's. His series entitled Studies in the Sierras in Scribner's Monthly in 1878, later republished as The Mountains of California. first brought him into notice, but he published very little after this. He cared nothing for money, no.hing for literary fame, and very little inducement could be offered him to continue his work. He wrote only for his own enjoyment and to make others share the passion he felt for the beauties of the California mountains. In 1901 he published Our National Parks, in 1911 My First Summer in the Sierras, selections from his journal, and in 1913 The Story of My Boyhood and Youth. During all his life he kept a full journal, and, as in the case of Thoreau, parts of it will be issued from time to time as the public demands, and at last undoubtedly the whole journal. No one has written like Muir of the western mountains. He has caught the freedom, the sweep, the vastness and beauty of them in a way that thrills and compels. He is a tempestuous soul whose units are storms and mountain ranges and mighty glacial moraines, who strides excitedly along the bare tops of ragged peaks and rejoices in their vastness and awfulness, who cries, Come with me along the glaciers and see God making landscapes!'

THE WATER-OUZEL 1

The water-falls of the Sierra Nevada are frequented by only one bird, the ouzel

or

water-thrush (Cinclus Mexicanus, Sw.). He is a singularly joyous and lovable little fellow, about the size of a robin, clad in a plain water-proof suit of a blackish, bluish gray, with a tinge of chocolate on the head and shoulders. In form he 10 is about as smoothly plump and compact as a pot-hole pebble; the flowing contour of his body being interrupted only by his strong feet and bill, and the crisp wingtips, and up-slanted wrenish tail.

Among all the countless water-falls I have met in the course of eight years' explorations in the Sierra, whether in the icy Alps, or warm foot-hills, or in the pro

1 Copyright by The Century Co.

found Yosemite cañons of the middle region, not one was found without its ouzel. No cañon is too cold for him, none too lonely, provided it be rich in white 5 falling water. Find a fall, or cascade, or rushing rapid, anywhere upon a clear crystalline stream, and there you will surely find its complementary ouzel, flitting about in the spray, diving in foaming eddies, whirling like a leaf among beaten foam-bells; ever vigorous and enthusiastic, yet self-contained, and neither seeking nor shunning your company.

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If disturbed while dipping about in the margin shallows, he either sets off with a rapid whir to some other feeding-ground up or down the stream, or alights on some half-submerged rock or snag out in the foaming current, and immediately begins 20 to nod and courtesy like a wren, turning his head from side to side and performing

many other odd dainty manners as if he had been trained at some bird dancingschool.

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He is the mountain streams' own darling, the humming-bird of blooming waters, loving rocky ripple-slopes and sheets of foam, as a bee loves flowers, as a lark loves sunshine and meadows. Among all the mountain birds, none has cheered me so much in my lonely wan- 10 derings, none so unfailing. For winter and summer he sings, independent alike of sunshine and love; requiring no other inspiration than the stream on which he dwells. While water sings, so must he; in heat or cold, calm or storm, ever attuning his voice in sure accord; low in the drouth of summer and drouth of winter, but never silent.

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hastening back to their hidings out of the wind, puffing out their breast feathers, and subsiding among the leaves, cold and break fastless, while the snow continues to fall, and no sign of clearing. But the ouzel never calls forth a single touch of pity; not because he is strong to endure, but rather because he seems to live a charmed life beyond the reach of every influence that makes endurance necessary.

One wild winter morning, when Yosemite Valley was swept from west to east by a cordial snow-storm, I sallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy. A sort of gray, gloaming-like darkness was kept up by the storm, and the loudest booming of the falls was at times buried beneath its sublime roar. The snow was already over five feet deep on

walks impossible without the aid of snowshoes. I found no great difficulty, however, in making my way to a certain ripple on the river where one of my ouzels lived. He was at home as usual, gleaning his breakfast among the pebbles of a shallow portion of the margin, and apparently altogether unconscious of anything extraordinary in the weather. Presently he flew out to a stone against which the icy current was beating, and turning his back to the wind, sang delightfully as a lark in spring-time.

During the golden days of Indian sum- 20 the meadows, making very extended mer the mountain streams are feeble,― a succession of silent pools, linked together with strips of silvery lace-work; then the song of the ouzel is at its lowest ebb. But as soon as the winter clouds have 25 bloomed, and the mountain treasuries are once more replenished with snow, the voices of the streams and ouzels begin to increase in strength and richness until the flood season of early summer. Then 30 the glad torrents chant their noblest anthems, and then too is the flood-time of our songster's melody. But as to the influence of the weather, dark days and sun days are the same to him. The voices 35 of most song-birds, however joyous, suffer a long winter eclipse; but the ouzel sings on around all the seasons, and through every kind of storm. Indeed no storm can be more violent than those of 40 the water-falls in the midst of which he delights to dwell. At least, from whatever cause, while the weather is darkest and most boisterous, snowing, blowing, cloudy or clear, all the same he sings, and 45 never a note of sadness. No need of spring sunshine to thaw his song, for it never freezes. Never shall you hear anything wintry from his warm breast; no pinched cheeping, no wavering notes be-50 tween sadness and joy; his mellow, fluty voice is ever tuned to downright gladness, as free from every trace of dejection as cock-crowing.

It is pitiful to see wee frost-pinched 5 sparrows, on cold mornings, shaking the snow from their feathers, and hopping about as if anxious to be cheery, then

After spending an hour or two with my favorite, I went plodding through the drifts, to learn as definitely as possible how the other birds were spending their time. The Yosemite birds are easily found during the winter, because all excepting the ouzel are restricted to the sunny north side of the valley, the south side being constantly eclipsed by the great frosty shadow of the wall. And because the Indian Cañon groves from their peculiar exposure are the warmest, all the birds congregate there, more especially in severe weather.

I found most of the robins cowering on the lee side of the larger branches where the snow could not fall upon them, while two or three of the most enterprising were making desperate efforts to reach the mistletoe berries by clinging nervously to the under side of the snow-crowned masses, back downward, like woodpeckers. Every now and then they would dislodge some of the loose fringes of the snow-crown which would come sifting

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