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There was once a widow who had two daughters. The elder was so like her mother in temper and face, that to have seen the one was to have seen the other. They were both so disagreeable and proud, that it was impossible to live with them. The younger, who was the exact portrait of her father in her kindly and polite ways, was also as beautiful a girl as one could see. As we are naturally fond of those who resemble us, the mother doted on her elder daughter, while for the younger she had a most violent aversion, and made her take her meals in the kitchen and work hard all day. Among other things that she was obliged to do, this poor child was forced to go twice a day to fetch water from a place a mile or more from the house, and carry back a large jug filled to the brim. As she was standing one day by this spring, a poor woman came up to her, and asked the girl to give her some water to drink.,

But it was in similar canyons, smaller, perhaps, that the Service built its dams. Down the sides of cliffs like these, which even the mountain goats had difficulty in mastering, the Service had to build its roads. It was to such desolate beauty that the Service brought progress and the service of mankind. In his imagination Bob saw the smooth face of an enormous dam filling even this great canyon,—generating enough horse power to run all the factories of the West, and collecting enough water to irrigate all the homes that could be made on the great American desert. Right then nothing was too stupendous a task for final achievement. His whole being thrilled with the thought that he was to be a part of the Service, that he was to have a hand in the great work that it was doing and would do.,

After his coat, Bob ripped off his flannel shirt and tore it down a seam. Then, with the greatest care, he began to unravel the threads that made up the fabric. The loose threads would burn when the cloth itself would only go out. Before he had a pile of threads that he felt would be sufficient for his purpose, his fingers ached and his nails were bleeding.,

Again it was very still.

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“Hello,” said the stranger as he grew nearer. “Where you from? The dam?”,

Bob had to admit this was so. “Maybe you’re right. Anyhow, it’s so dark we can’t tell for certain. I think we’d better get ashore somewheres and make camp. We’ll find out about it in the morning.”,

My, oh, my! How he had pounded Tellef! But he would really like to know whether any one wouldn’t be a little angry if, when he was sitting on a fence not thinking of a thing, some one should come and poke him in the back with a long stick?,

This information was valuable to Bob, especially the part about the other Mexicans leaving if Miguel went. From this it was clear to see that the man had influence among his countrymen and probably was just the person to start trouble, if trouble was coming.