onze, and had afforded ideal weather
for the further planting of the orchard. Here Felix was at work, with
Barbara following at his heels, and helping, when each tree was
planted, to hold it upright while he pressed down the earth about its
roots.

"We will leave an open space through the center," he said, "a lane
that will lead straight up toward the house, so that when Ralph and I
come home we can look up to the open door and the hollyhocks around
the step. Only," he shook his head regretfully, "I am afraid Ralph
won't see the flowers. His head is too full of dollar signs when he
comes home from the town."

Barbara turned about to look through the orchard. Some one came
trudging along between the little trees, his heavy, tired feet
crunching in the leaves.

"Oh, it's a peddler," she cried eagerly, for she was always pleased
when these traveling merchants came past, with their laces and gay
embroideries and colored beads to dazzle the eyes of little girls. But
this was a peddler of another sort, a dark-faced man with melting
black eyes and eager speech that was less than half of it English. He
was an immigrant Italian, newly come to this great America, he managed
to explain, and he was trying to sell the trinkets and small household
treasures that he had brought with him.

They led him up to the house, for he was weary and hungry, and while
Barbara brought him food, Felix was plying him with questions as to
where he had come from and whither he was going. He had meant to
settle down in the little seaport, so he told them, but--here he
became so voluble that it was almost impossible to understand him--he
did not wish to stop there now, he must go on--on.

"It is the gold," he cried excitedly, making wide gestures with both
his brown hands, "the beautiful yellow gold. They find it everywhere!"

He brought out a tattered newspaper to let them see for themselves
what he could not explain. News traveled slowly in those days, so that
in this out-of-the-way corner of Medford Valley the brother and sister
now heard for the first time of the discovery of gold in California.
Yet in the towns and where people could gather to tell one another
ever-growing stories, the world was rapidly going mad over tales of
gold lying loose for the gathering, of nuggets as big as a fist, of
rivers running yellow with the precious shining dust.

"Listen, Barbara; why, it can't be true!" cried Felix as he read
aloud, the Italian interrupt