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Thank
God
,
the
homestead
was
free
of
mortgage
;
one
good
season
would
more
than
make
up
the
difference
.
He
was
in
a
better
mood
by
the
time
he
reached
the
driveway
that
led
up
to
the
ranch
house
,
and
as
he
raised
his
eyes
toward
the
house
itself
,
he
could
not
but
feel
that
the
sight
of
his
home
was
cheering
.
The
ranch
house
was
set
in
a
great
grove
of
eucalyptus
,
oak
,
and
cypress
,
enormous
trees
growing
from
out
a
lawn
that
was
as
green
,
as
fresh
,
and
as
well
-
groomed
as
any
in
a
garden
in
the
city
.
This
lawn
flanked
all
one
side
of
the
house
,
and
it
was
on
this
side
that
the
family
elected
to
spend
most
of
its
time
.
The
other
side
,
looking
out
upon
the
Home
ranch
toward
Bonneville
and
the
railroad
,
was
but
little
used
.
A
deep
porch
ran
the
whole
length
of
the
house
here
,
and
in
the
lower
branches
of
a
live
-
oak
near
the
steps
Harran
had
built
a
little
summer
house
for
his
mother
.
To
the
left
of
the
ranch
house
itself
,
toward
the
County
Road
,
was
the
bunk
-
house
and
kitchen
for
some
of
the
hands
.
From
the
steps
of
the
porch
the
view
to
the
southward
expanded
to
infinity
.
There
was
not
so
much
as
a
twig
to
obstruct
the
view
.
In
one
leap
the
eye
reached
the
fine
,
delicate
line
where
earth
and
sky
met
,
miles
away
.
The
flat
monotony
of
the
land
,
clean
of
fencing
,
was
broken
by
one
spot
only
,
the
roof
of
the
Division
Superintendent
’
s
house
on
Three
—
a
mere
speck
,
just
darker
than
the
ground
.
Cutter
’
s
house
on
Four
was
not
even
in
sight
.
That
was
below
the
horizon
.
As
Harran
came
up
he
saw
his
mother
at
breakfast
.
The
table
had
been
set
on
the
porch
and
Mrs
.
Derrick
,
stirring
her
coffee
with
one
hand
,
held
open
with
the
other
the
pages
of
Walter
Pater
’
s
“
Marius
.
”
At
her
feet
,
Princess
Nathalie
,
the
white
Angora
cat
,
sleek
,
over
-
fed
,
self
-
centred
,
sat
on
her
haunches
,
industriously
licking
at
the
white
fur
of
her
breast
,
while
near
at
hand
,
by
the
railing
of
the
porch
,
Presley
pottered
with
a
new
bicycle
lamp
,
filling
it
with
oil
,
adjusting
the
wicks
.
Harran
kissed
his
mother
and
sat
down
in
a
wicker
chair
on
the
porch
,
removing
his
hat
,
running
his
fingers
through
his
yellow
hair
.
Magnus
Derrick
’
s
wife
looked
hardly
old
enough
to
be
the
mother
of
two
such
big
fellows
as
Harran
and
Lyman
Derrick
.
She
was
not
far
into
the
fifties
,
and
her
brown
hair
still
retained
much
of
its
brightness
.
She
could
yet
be
called
pretty
.
Her
eyes
were
large
and
easily
assumed
a
look
of
inquiry
and
innocence
,
such
as
one
might
expect
to
see
in
a
young
girl
.
By
disposition
she
was
retiring
;
she
easily
obliterated
herself
.
She
was
not
made
for
the
harshness
of
the
world
,
and
yet
she
had
known
these
harshnesses
in
her
younger
days
.
Magnus
had
married
her
when
she
was
twenty
-
one
years
old
,
at
a
time
when
she
was
a
graduate
of
some
years
’
standing
from
the
State
Normal
School
and
was
teaching
literature
,
music
,
and
penmanship
in
a
seminary
in
the
town
of
Marysville
.
She
overworked
herself
here
continually
,
loathing
the
strain
of
teaching
,
yet
clinging
to
it
with
a
tenacity
born
of
the
knowledge
that
it
was
her
only
means
of
support
.
Both
her
parents
were
dead
;
she
was
dependent
upon
herself
.
Her
one
ambition
was
to
see
Italy
and
the
Bay
of
Naples
.
The
“
Marble
Faun
,
”
Raphael
’
s
“
Madonnas
”
and
“
Il
Trovatore
”
were
her
beau
ideals
of
literature
and
art
.
She
dreamed
of
Italy
,
Rome
,
Naples
,
and
the
world
’
s
great
“
art
-
centres
.
”
There
was
no
doubt
that
her
affair
with
Magnus
had
been
a
love
-
match
,
but
Annie
Payne
would
have
loved
any
man
who
would
have
taken
her
out
of
the
droning
,
heart
-
breaking
routine
of
the
class
and
music
room
.
She
had
followed
his
fortunes
unquestioningly
.
First
at
Sacramento
,
during
the
turmoil
of
his
political
career
,
later
on
at
Placerville
in
El
Dorado
County
,
after
Derrick
had
interested
himself
in
the
Corpus
Christi
group
of
mines
,
and
finally
at
Los
Muertos
,
where
,
after
selling
out
his
fourth
interest
in
Corpus
Christi
,
he
had
turned
rancher
and
had
“
come
in
”
on
the
new
tracts
of
wheat
land
just
thrown
open
by
the
railroad
.
She
had
lived
here
now
for
nearly
ten
years
.
But
never
for
one
moment
since
the
time
her
glance
first
lost
itself
in
the
unbroken
immensity
of
the
ranches
had
she
known
a
moment
’
s
content
.
Continually
there
came
into
her
pretty
,
wide
-
open
eyes
—
the
eyes
of
a
young
doe
—
a
look
of
uneasiness
,
of
distrust
,
and
aversion
.
Los
Muertos
frightened
her
.
She
remembered
the
days
of
her
young
girlhood
passed
on
a
farm
in
eastern
Ohio
—
five
hundred
acres
,
neatly
partitioned
into
the
water
lot
,
the
cow
pasture
,
the
corn
lot
,
the
barley
field
,
and
wheat
farm
;
cosey
,
comfortable
,
home
-
like
;
where
the
farmers
loved
their
land
,
caressing
it
,
coaxing
it
,
nourishing
it
as
though
it
were
a
thing
almost
conscious
;
where
the
seed
was
sown
by
hand
,
and
a
single
two
-
horse
plough
was
sufficient
for
the
entire
farm
;
where
the
scythe
sufficed
to
cut
the
harvest
and
the
grain
was
thrashed
with
flails
.
But
this
new
order
of
things
—
a
ranch
bounded
only
by
the
horizons
,
where
,
as
far
as
one
could
see
,
to
the
north
,
to
the
east
,
to
the
south
and
to
the
west
,
was
all
one
holding
,
a
principality
ruled
with
iron
and
steam
,
bullied
into
a
yield
of
three
hundred
and
fifty
thousand
bushels
,
where
even
when
the
land
was
resting
,
unploughed
,
unharrowed
,
and
unsown
,
the
wheat
came
up
—
troubled
her
,
and
even
at
times
filled
her
with
an
undefinable
terror
.
To
her
mind
there
was
something
inordinate
about
it
all
;
something
almost
unnatural
.
The
direct
brutality
of
ten
thousand
acres
of
wheat
,
nothing
but
wheat
as
far
as
the
eye
could
see
,
stunned
her
a
little
.
The
one
-
time
writing
-
teacher
of
a
young
ladies
’
seminary
,
with
her
pretty
deer
-
like
eyes
and
delicate
fingers
,
shrank
from
it
.
She
did
not
want
to
look
at
so
much
wheat
.
There
was
something
vaguely
indecent
in
the
sight
,
this
food
of
the
people
,
this
elemental
force
,
this
basic
energy
,
weltering
here
under
the
sun
in
all
the
unconscious
nakedness
of
a
sprawling
,
primordial
Titan
.
The
monotony
of
the
ranch
ate
into
her
heart
hour
by
hour
,
year
by
year
.
And
with
it
all
,
when
was
she
to
see
Rome
,
Italy
,
and
the
Bay
of
Naples
?
It
was
a
different
prospect
truly
.
Magnus
had
given
her
his
promise
that
once
the
ranch
was
well
established
,
they
two
should
travel
.
But
continually
he
had
been
obliged
to
put
her
off
,
now
for
one
reason
,
now
for
another
;
the
machine
would
not
as
yet
run
of
itself
,
he
must
still
feel
his
hand
upon
the
lever
;
next
year
,
perhaps
,
when
wheat
should
go
to
ninety
,
or
the
rains
were
good
.
She
did
not
insist
.
She
obliterated
herself
,
only
allowing
,
from
time
to
time
,
her
pretty
,
questioning
eyes
to
meet
his
.
In
the
meantime
she
retired
within
herself
.
She
surrounded
herself
with
books
.
Her
taste
was
of
the
delicacy
of
point
lace
.
She
knew
her
Austin
Dobson
by
heart
.
She
read
poems
,
essays
,
the
ideas
of
the
seminary
at
Marysville
persisting
in
her
mind
.
“
Marius
the
Epicurean
,
”
“
The
Essays
of
Elia
,
”
“
Sesame
and
Lilies
,
”
“
The
Stones
of
Venice
,
”
and
the
little
toy
magazines
,
full
of
the
flaccid
banalities
of
the
“
Minor
Poets
,
”
were
continually
in
her
hands
.
