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There they were, all of them, down in the syringa arbor—Olea the cook, Lisa the nursemaid, Asta, Andrea, and Dagny. Bob got up early in order to see the Canyon at sunrise the morning after Steve Whitney went away, but found that in comparison to the sunset it was tame. Yet so inspiring was it that he was glad he had taken the trouble. The panorama spread before his eyes was one of which no other country could boast. Bob had seen pictures of it, had read about it, and had been taught about it from his geography, but nothing that he had read or heard or learned had given him even a faint idea of the glory of the thing as it actually was, no matter what time of the day it was seen. The flame continued to direct his course; and on a nearer approach, he perceived, by the red reflection of its fires, streaming a long radiance upon the waters beneath—a lighthouse situated upon a point of rock which overhung the sea. He knocked for admittance, and the door was opened by an old man, who bade him welcome..

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“Why haven’t we looked for a place for the dam?” Bob ventured at last. “We’ve passed a lot of places where the canyon walls were narrow.” He had not been long in this situation, when a confused sound of voices from a distance roused his attention. The sound returned at intervals for some time, but without seeming to approach. He descended from the tree, that he might the better judge of the direction whence it came; but before he reached the ground, the noise was ceased, and all was profoundly silent. He continued to listen, but the silence remaining undisturbed, he began to think he had been deceived by the singing of the wind among the leaves; and was preparing to reascend, when he perceived a faint light glimmer through the foliage from afar. The sight revived a hope that he was near some place of human habitation; he therefore unfastened his horse, and led him towards the spot whence the ray issued. The moon was now risen, and threw a checkered gleam over his path sufficient to direct him. John had lately decided that there was too little grass for it back of the barn and that the goat must go every day over to Grassy Island for a good meal. Reluctantly he started to take up his dreary work but on the way to the board, his eyes glanced through the window and rested on a grab bucket that was speeding through the air. For a second the sight meant nothing special to him, then suddenly it brought him to his feet. Without a word to the other draughtsmen he dashed out of the room, not waiting to snatch his cap..