RYTHING in the most alarming way--that those clothes were
bought to please US. A scramble of things bought at La Grange, without
reference to size or style. And to hear these creatures talk, why, you'd
think they were Astors or Rothschilds. Think of that little one with
the curls--I don't believe he is over seventeen, for all his baby
moustache--says he's going to build an assembly hall for us to give
a dance in next month; and apologizes the next breath to tell us that
there isn't any milk to be had nearer than La Grange, and we must do
without it, and use syrup in our tea to-morrow."

"And where is all this wealth?" said Christie, forcing herself to smile
at her sister's animation.

"Under our very feet, my child, and all along the river. Why, what
we thought was pure and simple mud is what they call 'gold-bearing
cement.'"

"I suppose that is why they don't brush their boots and trousers, it's
so precious," returned Christie drily. "And have they ever translated
this precious dirt into actual coin?"

"Bless you, yes. Why, that dirty little gutter, you know, that ran along
the side of the road and followed us down the hill all the way here,
that cost them--let me see--yes, nearly sixty thousand dollars. And
fancy! papa's just condemned it--says it won't do; and they've got to
build another."

An impatient sigh from Christie drew Jessie's attention to her troubled
eyebrows.

"Don't worry about our disappointment, dear. It isn't so very great. I
dare say we'll be able to get along here in some way, until papa is rich
again. You know they intend to make him share with them."

"It strikes me that he is sharing with them already," said Christie,
glancing bitterly round the cabin; "sharing everything--ourselves, our
lives, our tastes."

"Ye-e-s!" said Jessie, with vaguely hesitating assent. "Yes, even
these:" she showed two dice in the palm of her little hand. "I found 'em
in the drawer of our dressing-table."

"Throw them away," said Christie impatiently.

But Jessie's small fingers closed over the dice. "I'll give them to the
little Kearney. I dare say they were the poor boy's playthings."

The appearance of these relics of wild dissipation, however, had lifted
Christie out of her sublime resignation. "For Heaven's sake, Jessie,"
she said, "look around and see if there is anything more!"

To make sure, they each began to scrimmage; the broken-spirited Christie
exhibiting both alacrity and penetration in sea