ily besides me. I ain't lonely with you, father dear; but if
there was only some one, you know, when the time comes for John and
me"--

Her voice here suddenly gave out, but not her brave eyes, that were
still fixed earnestly upon his face. Mr. McClosky, apparently tracing
out a pattern on the bedquilt, essayed words of comfort.

"Thar ain't one of them gals ez you've named, Jinny, ez could do what
you've done with a whole Noah's ark of relations, at their backs! Thar
ain't 'one ez wouldn't sacrifice her nearest relation to make the strike
that you hev. Ez to mothers, maybe, my dear you're doin' better without
one." He rose suddenly, and walked toward the door. When he reached it,
he turned, and, in his old deprecating manner, said, "Don't be long,
Jinny," smiled, and vanished from the head downward, his canvas slippers
asserting themselves resolutely to the last.

When Mr. McClosky reached his parlor again, his troublesome guest was
not there. The decanter stood on the table untouched; three or four
books lay upon the floor; a number of photographic views of the Sierras
were scattered over the sofa; two sofa-pillows, a newspaper, and a
Mexican blanket, lay on the carpet, as if the late occupant of the room
had tried to read in a recumbent position. A French window opening
upon a veranda, which never before in the history of the house had been
unfastened, now betrayed by its waving lace curtain the way that the
fugitive had escaped. Mr. McClosky heaved a sigh of despair. He looked
at the gorgeous carpet purchased in Sacramento at a fabulous price, at
the crimson satin and rosewood furniture unparalleled in the history
of Tuolumne, at the massively-framed pictures on the walls, and looked
beyond it, through the open window, to the reckless man, who, fleeing
these sybaritic allurements, was smoking a cigar upon the moonlit road.
This room, which had so often awed the youth of Tuolumne into filial
respect, was evidently a failure. It remained to be seen if the "Rose"
herself had lost her fragrance. "I reckon Jinny will fetch him yet,"
said Mr. McClosky with parental faith.

He stepped from the window upon the veranda; but he had scarcely done
this, before his figure was detected by the stranger, who at once
crossed the road. When within a few feet of McClosky, he stopped. "You
persistent old plantigrade!" he said in a low voice, audible only to the
person addressed, and a face full of affected anxiety, "why don't you go