The Smiling Hill-Top 
 
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Smiling Hill-Top, by Julia M. 
Sloane This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and 
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away 
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Title: The Smiling Hill-Top And Other California Sketches 
Author: Julia M. Sloane 
Illustrator: Carleton M. Winslow 
Release Date: March 2, 2006 [EBook #17901] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 
SMILING HILL-TOP *** 
 
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THE SMILING HILL-TOP AND OTHER CALIFORNIA SKETCHES
The Smiling Hill-Top and Other California Sketches 
by 
JULIA M. SLOANE 
Illustrated by CARLETON M. WINSLOW 
[Illustration] 
NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1921 
 
Copyright, 1919, by Charles Scribner's Sons 
Published October, 1919 
 
TO 
MY THREE COMPANIONS OF THE ROAD ONE LARGE AND 
TWO SMALL THIS LITTLE BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
 
CONTENTS 
PAGE Introduction 1 The Smiling Hill-Top 5 A California Poppy 19 
Gardeners 35 Thorns 55 The Gypsy Trail 77 An Adventure in Solitude 
94 A Sabine Farm 116 The Land of "Whynot" 132 Where the Trade 
Wind Blows 155 Sunkist 176 
 
THE SMILING HILL-TOP AND OTHER CALIFORNIA SKETCHES 
INTRODUCTION 
The following sketches are entirely informal. They do not cover the
subject of Southern California in any way. In fact, they contain no 
information whatever, either about the missions or history--a little, 
perhaps, about the climate and the fruits and flowers of the earth, but 
that has crept in more or less unavoidably. They are the record of what 
happened to happen to a fairly light-hearted family who left New 
England in search of rest and health. There are six of us, two grown-ups, 
two boys, and two dogs. We came for a year and, like many another 
family, have taken root for all our days--or so it seems now. 
The reactions of more or less temperamental people, suddenly 
transplanted from a rigorous climate to sunshine and the beauty and 
abundance of life in Southern California, perhaps give a too highly 
colored picture, so please make allowance for the bounce of the ball. I 
mean to be quite fair. It doesn't rain from May to October, but when it 
does, it can rain in a way to make Noah feel entirely at home. 
Unfortunately, that is when so many of our visitors come--in February! 
They catch bad colds, the roses aren't in bloom, and altogether they feel 
that they have been basely deceived. 
We rarely have thunder-storms, or at least anything you could dignify 
by that name, but we do have horrid little shaky earthquakes. We don't 
have mosquitoes in hordes, such as the Jersey coast provides, but we do 
sometimes come home and hear what sounds like a cosy tea-kettle in 
the courtyard, whereupon the defender of the family reaches for his gun 
and there is one rattlesnake less to dread. 
On our hill-top there are quantities of wild creatures--quail, rabbits, 
doves, and ground squirrels and, unfortunately, a number of social 
outcasts. Never shall I forget an epic incident in our history--the head 
of the family in pajamas at dawn, in mortal combat with a small 
black-and-white creature, chasing it through the cloisters with the 
garden hose. Oh, yes, there is plenty of adventure still left, even though 
we don't have to cross the prairies in a wagon. 
People who know California and love it, I hope may enjoy comparing 
notes with me. People who have never been here and who vaguely 
think of it as a happy hunting-ground for lame ducks and black sheep, I 
should like to tempt across the Rockies that they might see how much
more it is than that. It may be a lotus land to some, to many it truly 
seems the promised land. 
"Shall we be stepping westward?" 
 
[Illustration] 
THE SMILING HILL-TOP 
No one should attempt to live on top of an adobe hill one mile from a 
small town which has been brought up on the Declaration of 
Independence, without previously taking a course in plain and fancy 
wheedling. This is the mature judgment of a lady who has tried it. Not 
even in California! 
When we first took possession of our hill-top early one June, nothing 
was farther from my thoughts. "Suma Paz," "Perfect Peace," as the 
place was called, came to me from a beloved aunt who had truly found 
it that. With it came a cow, a misunderstood motor, and a wardrobe 
trunk. A Finnish lady came with the cow, and my brother-in-law's 
chauffeur graciously consented to come with the motor. The trunk was 
empty. It was all so complete that the backbone of    
    
		
	
	
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