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What church is that, Monsieur, with the very disproportionate steeple?" inquired Miselle, pointing to a square gray box, surmounted by a ludicrously short and obtuse spire, expressive of a certain dogged obstinacy of purpose. "The church is an Orthodox meetinghouse, and the steeple is Orthodox too, for the Cape. Anything else would blow down in the spring gales.
"Delightful!" exclaimed Optima, Miselle, and Madame, applying themselves to eggs and toast with that calm confidence in a masculine decision so sustaining to the feminine nature.
"And what next? What is it to the glass?" asked Miselle, unblushing at her ignorance. "Next, it is put into these other kilns, and kept in motion with the long rakes that you see here, and at the end of forty-eight hours it will have absorbed sufficient oxygen from the atmosphere to turn it from massicot to minium, or red-lead. Look at this, if you please."
"But, really, how could one describe the shape of these creatures?" asked Optima aside of Miselle, as she stood contemplating a completed monster. "By comparing them to an Esquimaux lodge, with one little arched window just at the spring of the dome. Doesn't that give it?" "Perhaps. I never saw an Esquimaux lodge; did you, my dear?"
We can turn round at any time, if it becomes necessary"; and Madame smiled benevolently at Miselle, down whose face the rain-drops streamed, but who stoutly asserted, "Oh, this is nothing. Only a fog-shower, you know. We shall have it fine directly." "Not till we are out of Eel River. This valley gathers all the clouds, and they often get rain here when the sun is shining everywhere else."
Here, in the mixing-room, stood great boxes, filled with sand, with red-lead, or with sparkling soda and potash; and beside a trough stood, shovel in hand, a good-natured-looking man, who was busily mixing portions of these three ingredients into one mass. Him Miselle assailed with questions, and learned that the trough contained
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