"I wonder what the crowd will be like," Saxon speculated.
"Like him, of course. Birds of a feather flock together. They
won't be stuck up, any of them, you'll see."
Hall had sent out fish-lines and a swimming suit by a Mexican
cowboy bound south to his ranch, and from the latter they learned
much of the government land and how to get it. The week flew by;
each day Saxon sighed a farewell of happiness to the sun; each
morning they greeted its return with laughter of joy in that
another happy day had begun. They made no plans, but fished,
gathered mussels and abalones, and climbed among the rocks as the
moment moved them. The abalone meat they pounded religiously to a
verse of doggerel improvised by Saxon. Billy prospered. Saxon had
never seen him at so keen a pitch of health. As for herself, she
scarcely needed the little hand-mirror to know that never, since
she was a young girl, had there been such color in her cheeks,
such spontaneity of vivacity.
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