BOREGO SPRINGS TO LOS COYOTES 217 



I explained that I was bound to, not from, Warner's, 

 which is their mail station, forty-two miles away. 

 It appeared that the postmaster at Warner's was 

 under instructions, whenever he heard of any one 

 going through to Borego Valley (which might hap- 

 pen half a dozen times a year) to press him into serv- 

 ice as mail-carrier. The next request was for a news- 

 paper. This was another misfortune: and when I 

 remarked that if I had brought one it would have 

 been a week old, the reply was, "That's nothing. 

 If it was a month old it would be news to us. Never 

 mind, you can tell us the news, anyway." (This I 

 well understood meant news of the war, for Devon 

 is England in little, the county of Raleigh, Grenville, 

 and Drake.) 



So we sat and chatted of combe and tor, of Tor- 

 ridge, Dart, and Tavy, and of the importance at- 

 taching to "scraps of paper." Then she must show 

 me her garden, the wondrous beans, radishes, and 

 tomatoes; above all, an incredible rose that had 

 borne six blossoms in the spring. "I do wish it had 

 one on now, so you could have it: 't would carry all 

 day if you 'd keep it in the shade. I do love a rose, 

 don't you?" she went on: "seems like I never can 

 get my fill of 'em. 'T was four years come Michael- 

 mas we took this desert claim. Yes, I 've worked 

 pretty hard over this garden. The jack-rabbits are 

 something awful, and the quail too: I suppose they 

 come for the water. My husband wants to fill up 

 the hole where the water stands, but I tell him 

 'twould be cruel. And doves: they don't do any 

 harm, though; I love to have them come. There 



