FIELD-DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 



migratory shore-birds, and even the yellow-billed 

 magpies must wait. They would wait, while mi- 

 grants, like Folly, must be taken as they fly. 



Then came a lull, and at another stable I found 

 the very driver I was seeking. He knew nothing 

 about magpies, he confessed, but he knew the 

 road, and by half past seven the next morning, 

 it was agreed, we would be on the way. 



The weather was most propitious ; the sky 

 cloudless, with exactly enough of a light breeze 

 blowing ; and when we had mounted the long 

 hill, through the Monterey pines, and come out 

 upon a grassy slope sprinkled with strangely pic- 

 turesque, wind-swept, one-sided evergreen oaks, 

 not far from the Carmel Mission and the mouth 

 of the Carmel River, the valley lay before us, a 

 scene of enchanting beauty. 



The driver proved to be conversable (a good 

 listener, too, which is half the battle) ; the horses 

 promised to be equal to all we should ask of 

 them ; birds were numerous ; flocks of white sea- 

 gulls dotted the brown, cultivated lands, where 

 they follow the plough like so many blackbirds ; 

 the fields and roadsides were bright with sun- 

 cups (a kind of dwarf evening primrose), saucy- 

 faced, long-stemmed yellow violets, and other 

 blossoms; and it was impossible not to feel that 

 this time my hunt was fated to prosper, 

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