text: When I was young, I went looking for gold in California. I never found enough to make a rich strike. But I did discover a beautiful part of the country called Stanislau. Like Heaven on Earth, it had bright green hills and deep forests where soft winds touched the trees. By the time I arrived, the charming paradise had been deserted because miners' good luck didn't last. 
  
  Then, I realized I was not alone after all. 
  
  A man was smiling at me as he stood in front of his little house. Its front yard was full of blue and yellow flowers. White curtains hung from the windows and floated in the soft summer wind. 
  
  Still smiling, the man invited me inside. My spirit seemed to come to life again. I saw a bright rug on the shining wooden floor. And on little tables there were seashells, books and china vases full of flowers. A woman had made this house into a home. The joy in my heart showed on my face. The man read my thoughts. "All her work." He said affectionately, "Nothing here hasn't felt the touch of her hand." 
  
  One picture on the wall was not hanging straight. He went to fix it. He stepped back several times to make sure the picture was straight. Then he gave it a gentle touch. "She always does that," he explained, "It is like the finishing pat a mother gives her child's hair after she has brushed it. I don't know why I do it. I just do it." 
  
  As he talked, I went to a little black-walnut shelf that held a small picture of the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. There was a sweetness and softness in the woman's expression. The man stared at the picture. "Nineteen her last birthday. That was the day we married. When you see her...ah, just wait until you meet her!" "Where is she now?" I asked. "Oh, she is away visiting her parents. This is Wednesday," he said slowly. "She will be back on Saturday, in the evening." 
  
  That night, I stayed. The man told me his name was Henry. 
  
  Thursday evening we had two visitors, Tom and Joe. "We just drop over to ask when little madam is coming home. Any news from her?" "Oh yes," the man replied. "A letter." He took a yellowed letter out of his wallet and read it. It was full of loving messages. While reading, he glimpsed his friends and cried out, "Oh no, you are doing it again, Tom! Take your hands away and let me see your eyes. I'm going to tell her this time!" "No, you mustn't do that, Henry," the grey-haired miner said. "I am getting old. And any little sorrow makes me cry. Lord, we miss her so." 
  
  Saturday finally came. 
  
  I was glad to see his two friends, Tom and Joe, with guitars, coming down the road as the sun began to set. They put the flowers they brought in vases and began to play some fast and lively songs. 
  
  Henry's friends kept giving him glasses of whiskey. When I reached for one of the two remaining glasses, Tom stopped my arm. "Drop that! Take the other." he whispered. I did so. Henry was served last. He had hardly swallowed his drink when the clock struck midnight. His face grew paler and paler. "Boys," he said, "I am sick with fear. Help! I want to lie down." Henry was asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth. 
  
  In a moment, those handy men had his clothes off and tucked him into his bed. They seemed to be getting ready to leave. So I said, "Please don't go, gentlemen. She won't know me. I am a stranger." They glanced at each other. Then Joe said, "She? Poor thing, she's been dead nineteen years!" "Dead?" I whispered. "That or worse." he said. 
  
  "She went to see her folks half a year after she got married. On her way back, on a Saturday evening in June, when she was almost here, the Indians captured her. She's never been heard of since. Henry _ . He thinks she is still alive. When June comes, he thinks she has gone on her trip to see her parents. Then he begins to wait for her to come back. We drop in here, three days before she's due, to encourage him up and listen to him read the letter. On Saturday we all come and get everything ready for a dance. We've done it for nineteen years. The first Saturday there were twenty-seven of us, but only two now. We drug him to sleep through the night. Then he's all right for another year." 
  
  The two old men opened the door and disappeared into the darkness of Stanislau.