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him； we got a path made round the corner of the dump to our
door； so that we could come and go with decent ease； and he
even enjoyed the work； for in that there were boulders to be
plucked up bodily； bushes to be uprooted； and other occasions
for athletic display： but cutting wood was a different
matter。 Anybody could cut wood； and； besides； my wife was
tired of supervising him； and had other things to attend to。
And； in short； days went by； and Irvine came daily； and
talked and lounged and spat； but the firewood remained intact
as sleepers on the platform or growing trees upon the
mountainside。 Irvine； as a woodcutter； we could tolerate；
but Irvine as a friend of the family； at so much a day； was
too bald an imposition； and at length； on the afternoon of
the fourth or fifth day of our connection； I explained to
him； as clearly as I could； the light in which I had grown to
regard his presence。 I pointed out to him that I could not
continue to give him a salary for spitting on the floor； and
this expression； which came after a good many others； at last
penetrated his obdurate wits。 He rose at once； and said if
that was the way he was going to be spoke to； he reckoned he
would quit。 And； no one interposing； he departed。
So far； so good。 But we had no firewood。 The next
afternoon； I strolled down to Rufe's and consulted him on the
subject。 It was a very droll interview； in the large； bare
north room of the Silverado Hotel； Mrs。 Hanson's patchwork on
a frame； and Rufe； and his wife； and I； and the oaf himself；
all more or less embarrassed。 Rufe announced there was
nobody in the neighbourhood but Irvine who could do a day's
work for anybody。 Irvine； thereupon； refused to have any
more to do with my service； he 〃wouldn't work no more for a
man as had spoke to him's I had done。〃 I found myself on the
point of the last humiliation … driven to beseech the
creature whom I had just dismissed with insult： but I took
the high hand in despair； said there must be no talk of
Irvine coming back unless matters were to be differently
managed； that I would rather chop firewood for myself than be
fooled； and； in short； the Hansons being eager for the lad's
hire； I so imposed upon them with merely affected resolution；
that they ended by begging me to re…employ him again； on a
solemn promise that he should be more industrious。 The
promise； I am bound to say； was kept。 We soon had a fine
pile of firewood at our door； and if Caliban gave me the cold
shoulder and spared me his conversation； I thought none the
worse of him for that； nor did I find my days much longer for
the deprivation。
The leading spirit of the family was； I am inclined to fancy；
Mrs。 Hanson。 Her social brilliancy somewhat dazzled the
others； and she had more of the small change of sense。 It
was she who faced Kelmar； for instance； and perhaps； if she
had been alone； Kelmar would have had no rule within her
doors。 Rufe； to be sure； had a fine； sober； open…air
attitude of mind； seeing the world without exaggeration …
perhaps； we may even say； without enough； for he lacked；
along with the others； that commercial idealism which puts so
high a value on time and money。 Sanity itself is a kind of
convention。 Perhaps Rufe was wrong； but； looking on life
plainly； he was unable to perceive that croquet or poker were
in any way less important than； for instance； mending his
waggon。 Even his own profession； hunting； was dear to him
mainly as a sort of play； even that he would have neglected；
had it not appealed to his imagination。 His hunting…suit；
for instance； had cost I should be afraid to say how many
bucks … the currency in which he paid his way： it was all
befringed； after the Indian fashion； and it was dear to his
heart。 The pictorial side of his daily business was never
forgotten。 He was even anxious to stand for his picture in
those buckskin hunting clothes； and I remember how he once
warmed almost into enthusiasm； his dark blue eyes growing
perceptibly larger； as he planned the composition in which he
should appear； 〃with the horns of some real big bucks； and
dogs； and a camp on a crick〃 （creek； stream）。
There was no trace in Irvine of this woodland poetry。 He did
not care for hunting； nor yet for buckskin suits。 He had
never observed scenery。 The world； as it appeared to him；
was almost obliterated by his own great grinning figure in
the foreground： Caliban Malvolio。 And it seems to me as if；
in the persons of these brothers…in…law； we had the two sides
of rusticity fairly well represented： the hunter living
really in nature； the clodhopper living merely out of
society： the one bent up in every corporal agent to capacity
in one pursuit； doing at least one thing keenly and
thoughtfully； and thoroughly alive to all that touches it；
the other in the inert and bestial state； walking in a faint
dream； and taking so dim an impression of the myriad sides of
life that he is truly conscious of nothing but himself。 It
is only in the fastnesses of nature； forests； mountains； and
the back of man's beyond； that a creature endowed with five
senses can grow up into the perfection of this crass and
earthy vanity。 In towns or the busier country sides； he is
roughly reminded of other men's existence； and if he learns
no more； he learns at least to fear contempt。 But Irvine had
come scatheless through life； conscious only of himself； of
his great strength and intelligence； and in the silence of
the universe； to which he did not listen； dwelling with
delight on the sound of his own thoughts。
THE SEA FOGS
A CHANGE in the colour of the light usually called me in the
morning。 By a certain hour； the long； vertical chinks in our
western gable； where the boards had shrunk and separated；
flashed suddenly into my eyes as stripes of dazzling blue； at
once so dark and splendid that I used to marvel how the
qualities could be combined。 At an earlier hour； the heavens
in that quarter were still quietly coloured； but the shoulder
of the mountain which shuts in the canyon already glowed with
sunlight in a wonderful compound of gold and rose and green；
and this too would kindle； although more mildly and with
rainbow tints； the fissures of our crazy gable。 If I were
sleeping heavily； it was the bold blue that struck me awake；
if more lightly； then I would come to myself in that earlier
and fairier fight。
One Sunday morning； about five； the first brightness called
me。 I rose and turned to the east； not for my devotions； but
for air。 The night had been very still。 The little private
gale that blew every evening in our canyon； for ten minutes
or perhaps a quarter of an hour； had swiftly blown itself
out； in the hours that followed not a sigh of wind had shaken
the treetops； and our barrack； for a