he first thing in the
morning, my mother scouted the idea, telling him how she had long
desired to make his acquaintance, and intimating that she should take it
as a very poor compliment to herself if he should run off the moment she
got home.

So Peter, set quite at his ease, said no more about it, but went back
into the kitchen, whence he presently issued again to announce that
supper was ready.

A very hearty and a very merry supper it was, too, and long and animated
was the talk which followed, as we sat before the open fire that
evening.

"I feel almost bewildered," said my father, "when I think of the amount
and the variety of the work we have before us; it is astonishing that
the turning of that stream should carry with it so many consequences, as
I foresee it will--that and Tom Connor's strike."

"There's no end to it!" cried Joe, jumping out of his chair, striding up
and down the room, and, for the last time in this history, rumpling his
hair in his excitement. "There's no end to it! There's the hay-corral to
enlarge--rock hauling all winter for you and me, Phil! We shall need a
new ice-pond; for this new water-supply won't freeze up in winter like
the old one did! Then, when the 'forty rods' dries up, there will be the
extension of our ditches down there; besides making a first-class road
to bring all the travel our way--plenty of work in that, too! Then, when
we bring the old lake-benches under cultivation, there will be new
headgates needed and two new ditches to lay out, besides breaking the
ground! Then----Oh, what's the use? There's no end to it--just no end to
it!"

Joe was quite right. There was, and there still seems to be, no end to
it.

* * * * *

The effect of Tom Connor's strike on Mount Lincoln was just what my
father had predicted: our whole district took a great stride forward;
the mountains swarmed with prospectors; the town of Sulphide hummed with
business; our new friend, Yetmore, doing a thriving trade, while our old
friend, Mrs. Appleby, followed close behind, a good second.

As for Tom, himself, he is one of our local capitalists now, but he is
the same old Tom for all that. Just as he used to do when he was poor,
so he continues to do now he is rich: any tale of distress will empty
his pocket on the spot. Though my father remonstrates with him
sometimes, Tom only laughs and remarks that it is no use trying to teach
old dogs new tricks; and moreove