THE SANTA CRUZ MOUNTAINS 



upon a Swede mending the road. How soft and 

 pleasant a voice he has! And how friendly a 

 smile ! I love to meet with such a neighbor in a 

 lonely place, and as I pass on I fall to wonder- 

 ing how it is that all these foreigners, as a rule, 

 seem to have a touch of civility that lies beyond 

 the reach of my brother Americans. Politeness, 

 suavity, gentleness of manner, mildness of tone, 

 friendliness of expression — in all these qualities 

 the men from over seas appear to excel us. It was 

 only an hour ago, while I stood on the bridge, 

 watching the ouzel, that a young man, foreign- 

 born, though of what nationality I did not make 

 out, stopped to ask a question about the electric 

 car. Even now I can hear his agreeable voice 

 and the good-bye, like a word of grace, with which, 

 after an acquaintance of two minutes, he took 

 his leave. 



Yet I must tell the truth. The only man who 

 has been rude to me in California, where I have 

 been wandering about by myself in all sorts of 

 places, on an errand that must have been a mys- 

 tery to many, was a foreigner, a Teuton. He, 

 indeed, went so far as to threaten personal vio- 

 lence, with something like murder in his eye; 

 all because, in utter innocence, I had stood for a 

 few minutes a hundred yards or more from his 

 shanty of a house, quite outside the fence, level- 

 157 



