Ruth
did not smile; neither did Arnold when he had turned from her.
Chapter XIV
Beacham's lies in a dimple of the inner coast range, and is reached
nowadays through one of the finest pieces of engineering skill in the
State. The tortuous route through the mountains, over trestle-bridges that
span what seem, from the car-windows, like bottomless chasms, needs must
hold some compensation at the end to counterbalance the fears engendered on
the way. The higher one goes the more beautiful becomes the scenery among
the wild, marvellous redwoods that stand like mammoth guides pointing
heavenward; and Beacham's realizes expectation.
It is a quiet little place, with its one hotel and two attached cottages,
its old, disused saw-mill, its tiny schoolhouse beyond the fairy-like
woods, its one general merchandise store, where cheese and calico, hats and
hoes, ham and hominy, are forthcoming upon solicitation. It is by no means
a fashionable resort; the Levices had searched for something as unlike the
Del Monte and Coronado as milk is unlike champagne. They were looking for
a pretty, healthful spot, with good accommodations and few social
attractions, and Beacham's offered this.
They were not disappointed. Ruth's anticipation was fulfilled when she saw
the river.
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