en apprehension in his face. "I hope
there's no trouble at the mine," he muttered.

Bertha, leaning over his shoulder, read it first. "It's from Ben!" she
called, joyously. "Ain't it just like him?"

This message seemed a little bit foolish to Haney.

"Just to say hello! All well here. Have a good time.
"FORDYCE."

To Bertha it made all the difference between sunshine and shadow. She
thrilled to it as if it had been a voice. "He knew I'd be homesick, and
so he sent this to cheer me up," she said. And in this she was right.
Her shoulders lifted and her face cleared. "Come on, Captain, if we're
going."

As they came down the elevator, men in buttons met them, and attended
them to the door, and turned them over to still other uniformed
attendants, who were fain to help them into the auto-car; for Lucius had
managed to convey to the hotel a proper sense of his employer's money
value. He himself was always close to his master's side, for lately
Haney had taken to stumbling at unexpected moments, and his increasing
bulk made a fall a real danger.

A thrill of delight, of elation, ran through the young wife as she
glanced up and down Chicago's proudest avenue. It conformed to her
notion of a city. The level park, flooded with spring sunshine, was
walled on the west by massive buildings, while to the east stretched the
shining lake. From here the city seemed truly cosmopolitan. It had
dignity and wealth of color, and to the girl from Sibley Junction was
completely satisfying--almost inspiring.

It was uplifting also to be attended to a splendid auto-car by willing,
alert servants, and to feel that the passers-by were all envious of her
careless ease. Bertha forgot her homesickness, and took her seat in the
spirit of one who is determined to have the worth of her money (for once
anyhow), and the pedestrians, if they had any definite notion of her at
all, probably said: "There goes a rich old cattle king and his pretty
daughter. It's money that makes the 'mobile go."

She held to this pose for half an hour, while they threaded the tumult
of Wabash Avenue, and, crossing the river, swept up the Lake Shore
Drive. But the lake filled her with other thoughts. "I wish we had this
at the Springs," she said. "This is fine!"

"We have our share," answered he. "If we had this at our door, there
wouldn't be anything left to go to."

They whizzed through the park, and down another avenue into the thick
tangle of traffi