that it is no longer an experiment but an exact science which has yielded wonderful results in Utah, where it has been tried most successfully. It has been found that irrigation is not a necessity for the production of some kinds of crops. By scientific culture enough moisture can be conserved in the soil to produce all kinds of grains and some of the grasses if not a drop of water falls upon them during the warm weather. The cause of the lack of moisture in the soil on the sage-brush-covered plains is the formation of capillary tubes which pass down from the bushes into the soil, forming an outlet for the moisture gained during the winter when snow and rain are prevalent. Breaking these Breaking these tubes by deep ploughing and constant tillage during an entire summer prevents their formation a second season. Crops planted in the pulverized soil yield bountifully, and are said to contain quite double the amount of nutriment of those produced on irrigated farms. With arid farming, however, the land cannot be used season after season.

Nevada offers a wide field for agriculture, and with the numerous camps of the desert has a market at hand for all that she can produce.

With another of the imperative needs of the State, that of power for lighting the various camps and operating the mills and mines, private corporations and the Government are busy. The first company formed was the Nevada and California Mining and Milling Power Company, which put in its plant on Bishop Creek, California, about two years ago at an initial cost of $3,300,000. This creek is one of the finest mountain streams in the West for power purposes. It is high up in the Sierras a hundred miles from Goldfield, ten thousand feet above sea level, and is fed by the melting snows from a glacier buried between two high peaks at the very top of the range. When the reservoir now in process of construction is finished, it will extend back from the dam-one of the great engineering feats of the day-for a mile, and embrace two natural lakes. Its capacity will be three hundred mil

lion gallons of water. On the stream below the dam are three large generating plants. The first, eleven miles down, has twenty-six thousand horse-power; the second, two miles farther on, sixteen thousand; and the third, four thousand. From these plants miles upon miles of copper and aluminum cable go to Bullfrog, Silver Peak, Tonopah, Miller's Station, and Manhattan to run the machinery of mills and mines and light the camps. Thousands of men are working like bees dragging this heavy machinery across the great desert stretches, up wild mountain heights and putting it into place. The company that is installing this seven-million-dollar plant is one of the big enterprises of the State and is doing a business commensurate with the mining operations and reclamation projects under way.

A second similar project has Government support. Business men from Fallon and Reno, have just closed a contract for a five-thousand-horse-power electric plant to be constructed where the Truckee empties into the Carson with a fall of sixty feet, giving plenty of power. When finished, this plant is to

operate an electric road between Wonder and Fallon, besides furnishing light and power for the mines and camps.

Still a third, The Nevada-California Electric Power Company, is planning to furnish all the northern camps with power and has gone so far as to provide for a capitalization of fifteen million dollars. However, it is not expected that the plant will be in running order for several years to come.

In the development of her vast resources of phenomenal value Nevada has gathered together a wonderfully strange and interesting collection of men; engineers rich in technical skill and knowledge, capitalists, laborers and proprietors full of brawn and brain, all with a heritage of energy, push and courage; and lastly, in goodly array, the riff-raff from everywhere and nowhere. Together they are solving the problems of making habitable and productive the waste places of earth; of finding and wresting from the earth her treasures. The New Nevada, the poor man's paradise, the rich man's opportunity, is coming into her own; the land of promise has awakened.

W

VI

HEN, however, the next morning found Anthony without his new playmate, and strangers all about him, whose words. he could not understand and who were likewise ignorant of his, the grief of the day previous returned, and wildly he cried for his parents and his own home. The man tried vainly to quiet him by a promise of beautiful gifts, a visit to Inez, and a new boat of his own in which to cross the river to her new house. For a time the prospect of possessing treasures dear to his boyish heart and hitherto denied, quieted him; but presently his sorrow would break forth anew.

"What became of the carriage, sir?" asked Tony, after an outburst of tears. "What carriage, Anthony?" asked the man, patiently.

"Why, our carriage-the one we drove down to the hotel in. Don't you remember?" asked Tony, in surprise. "You know you got in and told Ben to drive to the hotel, where you said my father was waiting for us. If the carriage is standing there all this time the horses will be very tired, and my mother will be worried. Oh, where is my mother? and where am I? Oh, please, sir, take me back to my mother! She is crying for me, I know she is, and my father always told me never to make my pretty mother cry. I never did, and if she's crying now, what will my father think!"

The man's face had assumed the greyish tint that always came into it when Tony talked of home and his parents, while something like a sob broke in his throat. Presently he reached out his arms toward the child, and said, in the

winning voice that always drew the heart of the boy straight to him:

"Anthony, would you like to hear a story?"

His old love for stories flickered back into a semblance of life at the words, and he went to the man, saying wistfully:

"Yes, sir!"

The man took him upon his knee and folded his arms around the slim little figure, and said:

"Once upon a time there was a man who was very sad. He had not been happy as a boy, for a hard-hearted woman had first turned his father from him, and then taught the little brother whom he loved to hate him. The man

was very rich, or would be when his father died, and the woman, who had married his father, knew this and plotted against his life, because if he were dead the property would fall to his brother, who was her son. So, to save his life, he had left home when he was quite young and had wandered through many strange lands because he was homesick and hungry for the sight of his own people."

To Tony the story somehow seemed familiar, although he could not recall ever having heard it, and he listened attentively, while the man continued:

"But once when he was in England a strange thing befell this young man. I want you always to remember what I am going to tell you now, Anthony, for it is very strange, and yet it is so true that I could stake my life on it. This is not a story like other stories you have heard. It is so horribly true that my heart hurts to repeat it to you, and I would not do it-could not do it-only I want you to know how strange are the things that happen to men and boys in this world.

"As I said, the young man was in England. It was spring, and sometime, Anthony, when you are old enough, I am going to take you to England, in order that you may see that country in the Maytime of the year. I have traveled much, I have seen many beautiful countries, but never any one to compare with England when the spring paints her landscape with its tender beauty. This young man felt exactly as I do about it, and he wandered far into the country, drunk with the beauty of the land.

"One evening, just at sundown, he came into a little white village nestling at the feet of a range of low hills. There was a quaint old inn there, and he asked for lodging for the night. The innkeeper was a queer looking old man, with two of the bluest eyes that ever were set in a human head, and his round cheeks were as red and glossy as an autumn apple. Looking the young man over carefully, and appearing to be satisfied with his appearance, the innkeeper told him he thought he could accommodate him, although the place. was rather crowded. So the young man was shown to his room.

"It was a good-sized, white-walled, sweet-smelling room, and the bed was restful to his weary limbs, for he had walked many miles that day. He read a while, after having eaten his supper, and then feeling sleepy he lay down. Just before he went to sleep, he heard in the garden below his window the sweet voice of a woman, singing an old love song.

"With the song in his ears the young man fell asleep, and before he awoke he had a dream. It is the dream I want to tell you of, Anthony.

"He dreamed that he slept all the night, sweetly, soundly, with the notes of the old song, as sung by the unseen woman, running through his dreams. When morning came-ah, such a morning as it was, a May morning in old

England! when morning came, his first waking thought was of the singer and her song. He understood English perfectly, and knowing the song, he began to hum it while he dressed. As he was humming it, again the song came up to him from the garden, and he stepped to the window, and from behind the curtain looked down upon the singer. Utterly unconscious that she was being observed, the girl, for such the singer was,, walked in the garden, gathering daffodils. When the bouquet was large enough, she paused and, lifting her face, met the admiring eyes of the man above bent upon her. A flush that rivaled the rose tint in the sky behind her overspread her lovely face as she gathered up her skirts and walked quickly from the spot.

"The forehead of the man also felt uncomfortably warm. He had not intended to stand there so long, but the beauty of the maiden, and the exquisite charm of her presence, had made him oblivious of time. What did she think of him? he kept asking himself, as he made ready to go down-stairs. Above all the persons he knew, he wanted her to think well of him; and yet if her thought were unfavorable, how, he asked himself, should he be able to drive it from her mind? He did not know her, and as he was a stranger here there was no one to introduce them. She must always carry that unfavorable thought of him in her mind-she must always recall him as a spy upon the privacy of her garden.

"And yet it was not her garden, he remembered, but the inn-keeper's; and unless she were his daughter, she was only taking a privilege any other guest might claim. That she was not the inn-keeper's daughter he felt assured. She was not even an Englishwoman. She probably was an American and belonging to the higher walks of life.

"By the time the young man had all this settled in his own mind he was

down the stairs and in the dining-room, where breakfast was being served. As he entered, his eyes swept the apartment, searching for the young lady. But she was not there, and the disappointment took something from his relish of the substantial fare. As he was about to rise from his place, again the door opened and his heart gave a leap as he caught the sheen of her grey dress behind the black of the tall, elderly woman who was entering. The elderly woman went straight to her place, which was directly opposite where the man. was sitting, and the girl followed. He might have been invisible as far as the woman was concerned, for, it appeared to the man, she looked through him to the wall opposite while waiting for her order.

"But not so with the girl, who had demurely seated herself by her companion's side. As she took her place she lifted her long lashes, and seeing the man before her, the rosy color again dyed her cheeks. The man dropped his eyes to his plate and never once looked up until he had finished his breakfast. But as he rose, for one moment he permitted himself to look at the girl, and meeting her tender blue eyes, he silently besought her pardon for the act of the morning. He fancied he saw the shadow of a little smile dart across the lovely face, but it might have been only a fancy; for instantly her eyes were withdrawn and her attention was bestowed upon her companion.

It had been the intention of the young man to remain only a day at that village, but when the day was over he found himself unwilling to go, for the girl was still there. He told himself all he wanted was an opportunity to tell her his offense of the morning was unintentional; this accomplished, he would. continue his journey. Two days passed, then fate played the one moment into his hands. As he came in from a long walk, he found the girl standing before

the inn-keeper, her little hands locked and her lovely face white with misery.

'It's too bad, Miss Webster!' he was saying. 'I don't know what we'll do, for the next nearest doctor is ten miles away, and I've no means of getting word to him.'

"The girl's appearance and the innkeeper's words filled the young man with fear. When she retired he asked the inn-keeper if anything had gone wrong with his guests. At his question. the man laughed.

"The old lady's got one of her spells again, that's all,' he answered. 'She woke us all up in the dead of night about a week ago, and as she can frighten that little niece of hers out of her wits, I thought the old lady's end was drawing near. So I routed up one of the boys and sent him hot-footed after the doctor. Now the doctor had just gotten to bed after having been several miles up the country. Of course he came, but though he got a good fee he was mad as a hatter. He said there was nothing the matter with her-she was as well as he was. Now she thinks she is sick again, and has sent down her niece to have the doctor summoned immediately. The doctor is not at home, and as there is none nearer than the next village, the old lady will have to get well without a doctor. I tell you, sir,' continued the old man, 'I feel sorry for the young lady. You see the old one owns the money, though she intends to give. it to the young one when she is gone. In the meantime, she is making her earn it. They have been here a month now. The old lady likes this place because few people come here to remain any length of time. The young girl cannot be enjoying herself very much, for people don't stay long enough for her to get acquainted with them.'

"The young man finally succeeded in stopping the inn-keeper's flow of conversation, and expressed his opinion that it was not right not to make an