WILD THRIFT. 



Will you go to the shore and take a bath ? is almost the first 

 question asked you after reaching Santa Cruz. It was a pleas- 

 ing question to me and I quickly answered, " Yes, as soon as I 

 have had luncheon." 



" Cars run right by the door, miss, every fifteen minutes, 

 take you plumb up to the door of the baths, and you can stay 

 as long as you like for the same price." 



The day, being the latter part of March', was a little cool, 

 but the salt water in my bath was warm and delicious; yes, deli- 

 cious. I know no other word that so well expresses a warm salt 

 water bath after days of hot dusty travel. 



As I walked along on the warm sand, thoroughly refreshed 

 by my bath, with no particular aim in view, I came suddenly 

 upon some writing with a ring drawn around it. 



I looked closely and read, " Go straight ahead fifty-seven 

 steps, then turn to the right thirty-three steps, and you will see 

 a mighty pretty flower." I read it the second time. Surely it 

 had not been long written ; it looked as if freshly done in the 

 yet damp sand. I had seen no one on the beach, and looked 

 around to find the writer. In looking back I saw I had uncon- 

 sciously turned a point on the beach, and the writer, whoever it 

 had been, was out of sight. I read again, and then saw for the 

 first time foot-prints, so small they must be of a child, and the 

 toes pointed toward the cliff. I followed the foot-prints and 



