1896 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



895 



that lould me the name of the pony, is Docthor 

 Ralph Hayden." 



"No, no! heavens, no! Ralph Hayden!' said 

 Mr. Buell, grasping Matt's arm convulsively. 

 But he immediately loosened his grasp and 

 turned to the aid of Mrs. Buell, who had swoon- 

 ed quite away and would have fallen but for 

 his timely support. Mr. Buell, with words of 

 endearment, clasped her in his arms and car- 

 ried her into the cottage. 



Matt Hogan was dumbfounded at the effect 

 of his words, and for once in his life his tongue 

 failed to articulate. In a few minutes, how- 

 ever, he recovered and thus to himself solilo- 

 quized: 



" Now, be gorry, that's sthrange, and I won- 

 ther again am I Matt Hogan or what am I? 

 Is me tongue a shillaly, an' is Docthor Hayden 

 the Divil intirely? It's meself that'll be lavin' 

 this place, for I belave it's bewitched it is. But 

 what's that a rastlin' the bushes'? Och! sure, 

 it's me pretty misthress Alfaretta, an' it's a 

 singin' her song she is. She'll have her lover 

 on the saa. wher'r no. Now I'll be on me gin- 

 tility an' inthroduce the pony." 



"A delightful afthernoon, me lady," said 

 Matt, with hat in hand, as Alfaretta approach- 

 ed. " Wid yer permission I'll inthroduce to yees 

 the pony that yer friend Fred Anderson bought. 

 It's meself that brought it all the way from 

 Sacramento, an' it's meself that's a thinkin 

 yees will fit the back of the pony bether than 

 meself. Yees will look as charmin' as the 

 break of day, when yees ride." 



" Ta, ta, Hogan," said she, pointing her finger 

 at him. " How mistaken you are! That's not 

 a pony; that's a jack mermaid to carry me 

 over the water, under the water, over the trees, 

 under the trees. Why, Hogan, you are crazy; 

 your eyes look like peeled onions, your ears 

 like lobsters— crazy, crazy. Can you gallup a 

 broomstick, Hogan?" and Alfaretta teetered 

 toward him sidewise. 



Matt could bear no more, and made a break 

 for the Buell wharf to hail the little steamer 

 that was puffing up the river. Alfaretta shout- 

 ed after him, "Look out, now, Hogan! if you 

 follow the slant of your nose you will go over 

 the trees!". 



While Matt was frantically signaling the 

 steamer, Mr. Buell came in haste to the wharf 

 and exclaimed, " Why, Matt, why such haste? 

 I will row you up to Mr. Ghering's." 



"No, no! Misther Buell; yees are too kind 

 intirely. I'd bether go on the sthamer. Me 

 thick tongue might say somethin' that'd tip the 

 little boat over. No, no! it's safer for me to 

 go on the sthamer." 



Nothing could induce Matt to stay longer; 

 and when the steamer answered his signal and 

 came alongside the wharf he hastened on board, 

 and scarcely uttered a word until, an hour 

 later, he was safe on shore at Ghering's ranch. 



It was well toward evening when Matt land- 

 ed, and the fog was drifting over land and 

 water. He ran lightly up the wharf, and an- 

 ticipated meeting one or more of the men from 

 the ranch; for upon the well-known toot of the 

 whistle before drawing up to the landing, some 

 one usually came down to see what was put 

 ashore. The men, however, were eating their 

 supper, and the inner man appealed more 

 strongly to them than the outer man or what- 

 ever it was at the wharf. 



Jose Silvera finished his repast first, and, 

 lighting his pipe, strode away from the awn- 

 ing, remarking that the steamer had by this 

 landed, and he would see if it was a sefior or 

 seiiorita that they'd put ashore. 



With a retrospective feeling of pleasure 

 toward the bacon and eggs he had just swal- 



MATT SUKPRI8ES THE GHERING RANCHERS. 



lowed, Jose tramped along with eyes bent to 

 the ground; but when about a dozen yards from 

 the house an evident presence made him look 

 up, and there, through the evening fog, not 

 fifteen feet away, stood Matt Hogan, silent, 

 with arms folded across his breast. Jos6's 

 pipe suddenly dropped from his mouth, a show- 

 er of tobacco sparks following it to the ground, 

 and, with a yell of terror, he whirled around 

 and seemed to fly toward the house. 



" By the great toe of Paater," said Matt, 

 '• that's sthrange again. Me very silence seems 

 to break the sinse of people. It's not Docthor 

 Hayden that's the Divil this time; it's me own 

 silf. Matt Hogan." 



While muttering thus to himself he rapidly 

 followed the flying Jose; and as Jos6 dashed 

 into the circle of his surprised companions, who 

 were still around the supper-table at the rear 



