But Dr. Hornblower was quite unmoved. His professional dignity rose to the surface, and his voice took on its Sunday twang as he replied pompously,—
"No, Edward; the sheep are all in the fold. To-day I am only in search of congenial society." And he bowed gravely to Louise.
"Come on, now," whispered Grant, as he joined Allie and Ned in advance, and left Louise to follow them with her elderly admirer; "the doctor's lost his wind already, and can't keep up; but, if he wants a walk, we'll give him one."
His companions entered into the spirit of his proposition, and they quickened their pace, after casting one backward glance towards Louise, as she lingered along, with a sort of repressed impatience of step and manner, while she listened to the Reverend Gabriel's elaborate explanations of his reasons for following her. Then such a race as they led him! Quitting the track, they turned aside into the open ground, covered with uneven tufts of coarse bunch grass and thickets of sage brush, now racing down a little hillock, now jumping over a tiny stream and forcing their way through the clumps of willows on the bank, but always choosing the roughest, hardest path, and always going at the top of their speed, while Louise and the doctor panted and floundered along too far in the rear to be heard in their calls for mercy. Even Allie was beginning to be exhausted when, a few hundred feet above the mouth of the gulch, Grant turned abruptly to the right and scrambled up the steep hillside leading to the cemetery.
"There!" he chuckled, while Ned and Allie, breathless with laughing and with their rapid climb, dropped down on the ground beside him; "we'll give him a rest when he gets up here. If he's going to come along and spoil all our fun, he must pay for it; but he'll be tired by this time."
"I wonder if he'll ever get up here alive," said Allie, as she reached out to the nearest bush, to pick a bit of fur from the twig which had caught it from some passing cottontail. "You almost used me up, and I don't believe Miss Lou could have gone on much farther, so I shouldn't wonder if he was pretty nearly dead."
"Well, 'twould be a nice, convenient place for the funeral; only I shouldn't be surprised if he stuck, half way up here," suggested Ned, comfortably lying on his back, and fanning himself with the hat which Allie had tossed aside. "No; here he comes," he added, as the Reverend Gabriel's wide-brimmed straw hat and flushed face appeared over the brow of the hill, followed by Louise, looking rosy and mischievous, but as fresh as she had done at the start.
"Come over to this tree, doctor, and sit down here in the shade while you rest," she said kindly, as she led the way to the spot where the boys were stretched out on the grass.
There was an unwonted gentleness in her voice, for she had been quick to discover the impish intention of her brothers, and was anxious to atone for their lack of courtesy towards an acquaintance whom she had always regarded as an old man, on the down-hill side of life. In spite of herself she had been amused at the doctor's frantic efforts to keep up with her own firm, quick pace, and at his urgent entreaties that she should tell him if he walked too fast for her. Nevertheless, as she seated herself beside her young brothers, she was resolving to give them a lecture upon the sins of the afternoon, so soon as she could get them in a place of safety.
In the mean time, the doctor appeared to be strangely annoyed over something, although she was unable to discover the cause of his trouble. In obedience to her inviting gesture, he had spread out his large blue silk handkerchief on the ground by her side, and seated himself upon it. Then he started to remove his hat; but he had no sooner raised it a little from his head than he hastily clapped it on again, with a little exclamation of surprise and displeasure.
"I do hope that these bad boys haven't given you too hard a climb, doctor," Louise was saying politely, while she turned to frown down any fresh demonstrations on the part of Grant, who was evidently plotting some new mischief.
"Um—m—ah—no—at least, I beg your pardon, but what was it you said?" inquired the doctor, so abstractedly that Louise looked at him in astonishment.
The Reverend Gabriel sat with his face slightly turned away from her. He was tilting his hat so that, on the farther side, it was raised an inch or two from his head, while, with his disengaged hand, he was feeling carefully about underneath it, as if in search of some missing object. His face, meanwhile, was rapidly assuming every appearance of trouble and distress, which became more and more acute with every fresh motion of his hand. Louise watched him compassionately, sure that something was amiss, but not daring to offer to come to his assistance; then, thinking to spare him any added mortification, she looked away towards the valley.
A lovely picture lay at her feet, for the cañon opened out before her eyes in all the grandeur of its mountainous surroundings, while the little town in its bosom was softened and beautified by the kindly autumnal haze, which took away the crude shabbiness of its detail and brought it into harmony with the rugged landscape about it. Beyond the town lay the creek, and over it all floated the heavy pall of thick white smoke, which seemed to be supported on the tall red chimneys of the smelter buildings. The sun was dropping behind the mountains, and already the town lay in shadow, while the last beams lingered upon the cloud of smoke which flushed to a pale pink, then deepened to a rosy glow. The girl's eyes rested on the scene below her; then, surprised at the continued silence of her escort, she glanced at him once more. He was still groping about underneath his hat, with the same strained, upward roll to his eyes; but, as she looked at him, a new light burst in upon Louise's mind, for two long locks of tawny hair had straggled down over his right ear, and lay in a feeble ringlet against the top of his tall collar. The Reverend Gabriel's wrist brushed against them; he felt of them inquiringly; then he deliberately took off his hat to show the top of his head shorn of the glory of his curl, and the long ends of hair hanging in elf-locks about his face.
"Miss—um—Miss Everett," he began hesitatingly, while a dark flush rose on his weather-beaten cheeks; "Miss Everett, I am exceedingly sorry to trouble you, but"—he paused; then went on desperately; "in fact, could you be good enough to lend me a hairpin? The exertion of my climb has removed mine from its accustomed place, and I fear that my hair may be slightly disarranged."
The silence that followed was unbroken while Louise felt about among her braids and drew out a long, slender pin; but when the doctor put his hat down on the ground by his side, carefully rolled up his hair over his two forefingers, spread it into the usual long curl, and fastened it into its place, Allie and Ned fell into an uncontrollable fit of giggling. But, for the once, Grant's attention was distracted, for he was gazing steadily towards the engine house at the mouth of the mine.
"Say, Lou," he exclaimed; "what's going on down there? Everybody's rushing over to the mine; something must be wrong."
Louise's eyes followed the direction of his hand.
"There 's some trouble, down there," she said, rising abruptly. "Will you excuse us, Dr. Hornblower, if we go down without waiting to get rested? I am always a little anxious about my father." And she hurried away down the hill, leaving the Reverend Gabriel to adjust his hairpin at his ease, while he reflected upon the unsatisfactory nature of his walk.
CHAPTER XI.
"SWEET CHARITY'S SAKE."
"You see," Howard was explaining to Ned, that evening, "he'd put in his charge for the blast, and was tamping it down all right; but he kicked over his drill, and the end fell on an extra package of giant powder."
"I know that," interrupted Ned. "Papa said he was outrageously careless, to have any of the stuff lying around loose; and 'twas a wonder that there weren't any more men near enough to be killed. Poor old Mike! He's worked in the mine ever since 'twas first opened, and he was one of their best men."
"I don't see how he came to be so careless, then," said Marjorie, wisely shaking her head over the matter. "I should suppose he'd have known better by this time."
"They do know better," said Ned thoughtfully; "only they get hardened to the risk and don't think much about it, or else say their luck will hold out. But Mike has the worst of it. Do you know, this is the first accident in the Blue Creek I ever remember, and I used to see Mike 'most every day, so I can't get to believe it a bit. It seems as if it couldn't be true."
"Papa was all broken up to-night," added Grant. "He knows all the old foremen, and Mike was the best one of them all."
"I believe I'd rather die 'most any way than be blown up," said Allie, with a shudder. "It must be so hard for his family. But didn't you say somebody else was hurt, Howard?"
"Just one boy," answered Howard, rising and walking nervously about the room, as the scene came freshly to his mind. "I don't know who he was, for nobody seemed to be sure of his name. He had dark hair, and was about Charlie Mac's size, I should think. They brought him up in the cage just as Charlie and I stopped at the shaft, and the first thing we knew, we were right beside him."
"What's it going to do to him?" asked Marjorie, as her bright face grew very serious at the picture that Howard had brought before her.
"No one knew, for the doctor wasn't there, of course, and they took him right off home. Papa said he was an English boy that lived over the creek," said Grant, stretching himself out on the sofa, with his heels on the cushion.
Marjorie sprang up and shook herself, with a little shiver.
"Don't let's talk about it any more," she exclaimed. "It just makes me sick to think of it."
"But it's there, all the same, whether we talk about it or not; and if you'd seen it, as we did, you couldn't forget it, even if you did keep still," said Howard soberly; and Allie added,—
"Besides, maybe if we talk about it we can find out there's something to do, to help out."
For an hour, the five young people, gathered in the Everetts' parlor, had been telling over the details of the accident. As Ned had said, it had been a long time since the Blue Creek had been visited by an accident like those which so frequently occurred in the neighboring mines, and this, killing, as it did, one of the oldest and best-known of the miners, had created an intense excitement in the little town. Immediately following the explosion, there had been put in circulation a report of the accident so exaggerated that it had brought to the spot the wives of half the miners in the camp, each one of whom was confident that her husband was among the twenty or more men said to have been killed. It had been this hasty gathering which had caught Grant's eye; and the Everetts and Allie had hurried down into the town just in time to learn the truth that but one man was killed, and to watch the excited groups as they slowly dispersed, so noisy in their joy that their own friends had escaped, that they forgot to give more than a passing thought to poor, careless Mike, whose working days were ended. But that came later; and among all his mourners there were none more sincere than the little group at the Everetts', who knew and appreciated the real worth of the jovial, brawny Irishman, whose pleasant word and helping hand were extended to all with whom he ever came in contact. They were still talking of him when the bell rang; and, a moment later, Wang Kum ushered Dr. Brownlee into the parlor. At sight of him, Marjorie sprang up impulsively.
"Oh, doctor, tell us about the poor boy! How is he?" she asked abruptly, without waiting for any formal greeting.
"If you mean the one who was hurt at the mine this afternoon," the doctor was beginning, when Ned hastily interposed,—
"Hold on a minute, Dr. Brownlee; but don't sit down in that chair. There's something wrong about the stuff it's covered with; 'tisn't real leather, and it melts and gets sticky in summer, or when there's a hot fire. You'd better steer clear of it. We mean to keep it out of the way."
"You might use it for a trap," suggested the doctor laughingly, as he pushed aside the great easy-chair, and settled himself in a willow rocker. Then his face grew grave again, as he turned back to Marjorie. "He's as badly hurt as he can be," he went on. "He'll get over it, but he'll never be able to do anything more. He hasn't come to his senses yet, and I wish he needn't, for the present, for he has a hard time before him," he added, as he rose to meet Louise, who came into the room just then.
"I'm a little upset to-night," he said apologetically, in answer to her exclamation about the coldness of his hand. "To be perfectly honest, this is my first accident case; and it's a very different thing from seeing people quietly ill in bed, even if you know they can't get well. I was at the house when they brought him in, and I hope I sha'n't often have to go through such a scene again."
"Tell me about it," said Louise, with a gentle sympathy which lent a new grace to her beauty. "I'm not afraid to hear, and perhaps I can do something for them by and by."
And the doctor told, forgetting himself, and even the charming young woman before him, as he went on with the story of the mother's frantic sorrow over her only son, of the boy's half-conscious suffering, and of the long, helpless life before him. The girl's eyes filled with tears as she listened, though her pity for the lad was mingled with a new admiration for the speaker. The tale did not lie entirely in the mere words describing the accident; but, under all that, it told of the generous, kindly sympathy of the true doctor, who shrinks from the sight of pain, even while he gives his life to watching and helping it.
Two weeks later Marjorie was spending a stormy afternoon at the Burnams', when Ned appeared on the piazza.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed, as he furled his dripping umbrella, and shook himself out of his rubber coat. "You'd better believe I'm wet. Lou went off before it rained, and I had to pack her rubbers and umbrella over to her. It's no joke to walk a mile in such a pour."
"Where is she?" asked Allie, while she hospitably drew up a chair for her guest.
"Over the creek with that boy of hers. She puts in ever so much time there, since he's better. She says he's crazy to read and be read to, so she goes over 'most every day," responded Ned, as he wriggled away from the too exuberant caresses of Ben.
"How is he getting on?" inquired Marjorie.
"All right, as much as he can. Lou says he's bright and knows a good deal."
"How kind she's been to him!" said Allie thoughtfully. "And Charlie, too. He buys lots of things for him, and sends them over by Dr. Brownlee."
"Good for Charlie Mac! That's just like him," said Ned enthusiastically. "Where is he, anyhow?"
"We supposed he was over at your house with Grant," answered Howard from the corner where he sat, industriously whittling at a set of small wooden pegs.
"It must be nice to have money, and do all sorts of things like that," sighed Marjorie. "I can't afford to buy books and fruit, for I'm always short on my allowance; and mamma won't let me give up my lessons, even for one day, so I can't do what Miss Lou does."
"Poor Marj! It's a hard case; for time's money, and you haven't any of either," remarked Howard.
"Wait a minute!" she answered, starting from her chair, and pacing up and down the room, as was her habit when much absorbed. "I'm getting hold of an idea."
"Hold on, then, and don't let it go," advised Ned, dodging the sofa pillow that Marjorie hurled at him.
"Listen!" she commanded imperatively. "It's really and truly a good plan. You know we haven't any too much money, for we all of us spend our allowances faster than we get them; but let's begin to save, and put it all together, till by and by we can send him something."
"Good, Marjorie! What a splendid idea!" exclaimed Allie, fired with zeal at the thought.
"But, I say," remonstrated Howard; "how long are you going to keep up the scheme? I can save like a house afire, for a little while; but Christmas is coming, and I've promised to give Allie a rubber doll, and charity begins at home, you know. I'm willing to help on your lad for a month or so; but let's put a limit to it."
"I didn't think you'd be so stingy, Howard," said Marjorie, turning on him a gaze of virtuous sorrow.
"'T isn't stingy," retorted Howard; "it's common sense. I 'm as sorry for him as you are; but I think we'd better go easy on it a little, and see how we come out."
"Let's try it for a month," interposed Allie hastily, for she saw that Marjorie was growing indignant. "If we save all we can, we shall have a good deal by that time. What shall we get him?"
"A whole set of Henty's books," suggested Ned promptly.
"No; I think he'd like a tool-chest better," said Howard, eyeing with disfavor the shabby knife in his hand.
"What an idea, Howard! He couldn't use a tool-chest, even if he had one," said Allie, laughing disrespectfully at her brother's suggestion. "We want to get him something he could have the good of all the time. What do you say, Marjorie?"
"Miss Lou said he used to sing a good deal," observed Marjorie, her virtue coming to the surface once more. "Why wouldn't it be nice to get him one of the new hymnals; a great big one, with all the tunes in it? I think he'd find it very comforting."
A pause followed her words; then the boys burst into a shout of laughter. Marjorie looked a little aggrieved.
"I don't see what you're laughing at," she said, with a suspicion of a pout. "Hymns are a great deal better for such people than your crazy old books and tool-chests."
"Don't be a jay, Marjorie," said Ned bluntly. "He isn't any more such people than we are; and because a fellow is down on his luck he doesn't want everybody shying coffins at him. But here comes Grant; let's see what he says. Then we can save up for a month, and see how much we get; after that, we can tell better what to do with it."
For the next four weeks a spirit of miserliness seemed to have broken out among the young people, who scrimped and saved and denied themselves for days, only to succumb to the temptations of "just one little bit of a treat," which swept away most of their savings again, and left them no better off than before. The day after they had taken their great resolution, they went down town in a body, and invested most of the funds at the disposal of the syndicate in an elaborate toy bank, in the form of a dog who stolidly swallowed their stray bits of silver and nickel into an iron strong-box below, which nothing but a powerful hammer could ever succeed in opening. As soon as this purchase was made, and a nest-egg solemnly deposited in its miniature vault, their zeal cooled, and the dog was left in Allie's keeping for a week of slow starvation. It is true that Charlie often begged to be allowed to contribute from his own more abundant resources; but it had been agreed that he could only add one fifth to the combined offerings of the others; so, though the end of the month was fast approaching, the bank was still nearly as light as when it came from the store, and only responded with a faint rattle to Allie's frequent shakings.
Matters were in this condition, one day, when Grant dropped in for one of his frequent short calls on Marjorie.
"Mustn't stay," he answered briefly; "I'm on my way down to get my hair cut. I'm going to try Charlie Mac's barber; he gets a better shape on your hair, somehow."
"Extravagant boy!" said Marjorie reproachfully. "You'll have to pay him ever so much. How much does he charge, anyway?"
"Six bits," answered Grant, as he picked up his hat, and took hold of the door knob.
"That's perfectly shameful," said Marjorie. "It's ever so much more than you generally pay. I'll tell you what: I'll do it for you for ten cents, and you can have all the rest to put in our bank. You haven't begun to give your share."
"I can't help it; a fellow can't live on nothing," said Grant defensively. "I've only had two sodas and a new bat this week. Besides, I want my hair cut like Charlie's."
"I should think you would be ashamed to spend so much on just your looks, when you think of that poor, exploded boy," said Marjorie in a sanctimonious tone. "And then," she added persuasively, "if you let me cut it for ten cents, you can spend some for a treat and put the rest in the bank."
Grant wavered. The prospect of having an unexpected treat, and at the same time of putting a little money into their hoard was an attractive one; but, after all, his boyish soul was filled with a vain desire to see how his yellow hair would look, after being cut by Charlie's man. Moreover, Charlie's barber was an expensive luxury, and Grant had experienced some difficulty in coaxing the necessary funds out of Mrs. Pennypoker, so he had a little natural misgiving as to her opinion of his putting the money to other uses.
"You could get a soda, and ever so many pine nuts," went on the tempter, touching her victim's weakest spot.
Grant yielded a little.
"Have you ever cut anybody's hair?" he demanded.
"No; but I can, well enough. It's just as easy." And Marjorie gave her hand an impressive sweep through the air. "I know just exactly how," she added.
"You're sure you can make it look all right?" asked Grant again, while there floated through his mind a blissful vision of himself, tranquilly eating pine nuts, and of the others, standing grouped about him, praising his generosity.
"Course I can; why not?" said Marjorie scornfully. "Don't you s'pose I know how a boy's hair ought to look?"
"And you'll do it for ten cents?"
"Yes."
"All right; sail in!" And Grant dropped into a chair and closed his eyes, as if he were about to be decapitated.
"You needn't think I'm going to do it here in the parlor," said Marjorie. "It's going to make an awful muss; you must come out of doors."
"You needn't think I'm going to freeze," retorted the victim, opening his eyes to glare at her belligerently. "If I give you the job, and pay you all that for it, I'm going to have something to say about the way it's done. You can spread down a paper, if you're afraid."
"Well," said Marjorie reluctantly; "I don't know but 'twould be cold on the piazza. Wait a minute, and I'll be ready."
Her preparations were quickly made. A layer of newspapers was spread over the carpet, and a chair set out in the middle of the room. Then she tied a blue checked apron around Grant's neck, and announced herself as in readiness.
"Sit down there," she commanded, as she dived into a box of scrap-book materials for a pair of paste-stained scissors; "and don't you dare to wiggle, for I shall cut you if you do." And she gave the scissors an expressive clash above his head.
"All right," said Grant again, as he once more closed his eyes and assumed a look of abject misery.
Then silence fell upon the room, and for a long half hour the stillness was only broken by the clatter of the loose-jointed scissors, and an occasional moan from Grant, when the blunt points collided with his skin with more than ordinary vigor. With one hand clutching the boy's yellow head for support, Marjorie stood over him, clipping and trimming, then stopping to contemplate the result of her labors, before attacking a new spot. She had started out upon her undertaking valiantly enough; but a dozen reckless slashes had begun to awaken some slight misgivings in her mind, and she proceeded more slowly and with frequent pauses, while an anxious pucker about her brows showed that she was not entirely satisfied with her work. Worst of all, Grant was beginning to grow restive.
"'Most through?" he had inquired some time before.
But Marjorie had consoled him with assurances of his speedy release; and he had resigned himself to the inevitable and sat quiet for ten minutes longer. Then he burst out again.
"Say, Marjorie," he protested; "you scratch like fun; and you've been long enough about it to cut a dozen hairs. Hurry up, there!"
"I'm almost through," she answered hastily. "Your hair's so tough it takes me longer than I thought 'twould."
"How's it going to look?"
"Lovely!" responded Marjorie, with a fervor which she was far from feeling, while she made a few hurried clips at a long lock which, in some way, had escaped her vigilance. "There!" she added. "That's all. You can get up."
Grant rose and shook himself; then, with the apron still hanging about his neck, he marched to the nearest mirror and gazed at the reflection of his shorn head. It was a strange picture that met his eyes. His head was encircled with narrow furrows, where the scissors had done their work so well that not a spear of hair rose above the bare skin. These ridges were intermingled with patches of stubble of varying length; while, here and there, a long lock had escaped entirely, and, in the lack of its former support, now stood out from his scalp at an aggressive angle, like the fur on the back of an angry cat. The whole effect resembled nothing so much as a piece of half-cleared woodland, where the workman's axe had here levelled everything to the ground, here left a clump or two of bushes, and here spared an occasional giant tree which towered far above its fallen comrades, in the conscious pride of its unimpaired strength.
The result was novel; but Grant appeared to fail to appreciate it, for when he turned back to face Marjorie again his brown eyes were blazing, and he was well-nigh speechless with indignation.
"You beastly fraud!" he shouted, while he rubbed his hand over his denuded pate, with a tenderly caressing motion, as if to console it for its appearance.
"What's the matter?" asked Marjorie faintly.
"Matter!" stormed Grant. "Look at my head and see for yourself. You said you could cut my hair all right, and you've just spoiled it all. I won't pay you one cent. It'll take weeks and weeks for it to get back again."
"It looks all right," said Marjorie stubbornly; "and you've got to pay me. You said you would, and you never lie. The time I spent on it is worth more than ten cents, anyway."
"I sha'n't pay you," retorted Grant doggedly.
"You shall!"
"I won't!"
"Then I'll tell Allie and Charlie, and all the rest, that you're stingy and a great big cheat."
"Tell away if you're mean enough."
"And I'll tell Mrs. Pennypoker; and she'll send you to bed without your supper, for stealing her money."
"Didn't steal it!"
"Yes, you did, too! She gave it to you for something, and you were going to spend part of it for soda; that's stealing."
"'T isn't, either!"
"'T is, too, and you know it! And if you aren't ashamed of it why don't you want me to tell her?"
Grant saw that his enemy had outflanked him, and that his only possible course was to make the best terms he could.
"Now, see here," he said more quietly, as he pointed to his head again; "this isn't worth anything; but you've cornered me, so I can't get out. But, if I pay you, you must give me back a nickel, to pay for the hole you snicked out of my ear."
Marjorie's face fell. She had been hoping that he would not notice the little red spot on the tip of his left ear.
"And then," continued Grant remorselessly; "you can just put on your hat, and come along with me to Allie's. We'll each put a nickel in the bank, and then we'll be square. But you'd better believe I'll tell the boys who did this, so they won't get taken in as I did."
A week later, Charlie and Allie opened the bank and counted the funds. Only sixty-five cents had accumulated there; Allie's face fell as she surveyed the meagre hoard.
"Hush up!" commanded Charlie, as he dropped something yellow and shining into her lap. "I was in a bad fix last summer, and I know how 'tis, so I ought to help on more than the rest of you. You just keep still and don't say anything to the others."
And no one else ever knew the full history of the magazine that put in its appearance at the beginning of the following month, with a greeting to the stranger boy from his friends across the creek.
CHAPTER XII.
HOME WITHOUT A MOTHER.
There was mutiny in the Burnam household. It had broken out the night before, when Vic was saying his prayers in the presence of Mrs. Pennypoker, who was supposed to be temporarily filling his mother's place. At the petition for daily bread, Vic had stopped short.
"Go on," said Mrs. Pennypoker, in slow, measured tones.
Victor opened his eyes and glared at her with undevout opposition.
"Don't want bread," he said firmly. "Vic likes biskies."
"It means the same thing, Victor," answered Mrs. Pennypoker, in her hard voice. "Now be a good little boy and finish your prayer, or God won't listen to you, another time, when you are asking him for something."
It was then that Vic had delivered himself of his first baby heresy, which had been slowly working in his brain while Mrs. Pennypoker had been urging him through his devotions, in a manner so unlike the tender gentleness of his pretty mamma.
"I don't like your God," he said deliberately, as he gazed up into the cold, dark eyes above him; "I don't like your God a bit; I'm tired of him. I want my mamma's." And, rising from his knees, he dived into bed, where he burst out sobbing for mamma; nor would he be quieted until Mrs. Pennypoker had left the room, and sent Allie up to comfort her baby brother with repeated assurances that mamma would come by and by.
Two days before this, Mrs. Burnam had received a note from her husband, saying that a fall from his horse had bruised and strained him a little, and that it seemed best for him to stay a few days at a small country hotel, not far from his camp. In reality, it was only a slight affair; but Mrs. Burnam had felt so uneasy that she had resolved to go to him, to be at hand in case he might need any of the little attentions which it would be hard for him to get, in the small town where he was left. Since Victor would be only an additional care, she had decided not to take him with her; but, remembering the emergency which had arisen during her last absence, she had begged Mrs. Pennypoker to take charge of the household for the time that she was away from home.
This arrangement had not met with the entire approval of the young people, it must be confessed; for Howard and Allie had hoped to be allowed to pose as heads of the house, while Victor had lifted up his voice in vigorous protest against the intruder. However, until Victor's rebellion, the second night, there had been no open outbreak, although there was an undercurrent of antagonism between Mrs. Pennypoker and the children, which threatened an explosion at any moment. It was a new experience for Howard and Allie to have their fun and laughter repressed, and they were far from being ready to submit to it with a good grace; while Janey had promptly ranged herself upon their side, and manifested a monkey-like ingenuity in planning the pranks which were making Mrs. Pennypoker's frown grow deeper at every moment.
"Just look at Janey!" Howard had whispered to his sister, as the maid came in at dinner-time, with the strings of her dainty white cap tied under her chin, and the point standing up from her forehead like an old woman's poke bonnet.
Mrs. Pennypoker caught the whisper. Putting on her glasses, she turned to glare at Janey, who received her stare with an unmoved countenance.
"Jane," she said, with crushing dignity; "go back to the kitchen, and arrange your cap properly."
And Janey went, but it was not until she had given the two boys a look which upset their gravity and forced them to retire behind their napkins. She was gone for some moments, and when she reappeared her cap was drawn far down over her face, and she came tiptoeing in with short, mincing steps, to go through her serving with an exaggerated elegance, bowing and smirking and flourishing her tray, with all the airs and graces at her command. However, there was nothing to be done about it, and Mrs. Pennypoker was forced to be content with ignoring her for the present, while she frowned down any demonstrations of amusement on the part of the children. The rest of the meal was hurried through in silence, and as soon as it was over the young people shut themselves up in Allie's room, to vent their indignation by talking over the events of the past two days.
"You don't catch anybody getting in ahead of Janey, though," said Howard with a chuckle. "She's a match for even Mrs. Pennypoker."
"I'm 'most afraid she'll get mad and go off," said Allie anxiously. "Mrs. Pennypoker has just been nagging at her all day long, and Janey won't put up with it. She isn't used to it, as Wang Kum is."
"Even Wang Kum kicked, the other day," said Charlie, sitting down on the footboard of the bed, and swinging his heels while he talked. "Grant told me about it. Wang made a mistake and threw away all her soup she'd made, just before dinner; and when she scolded him for it, he said he 't'ought 'twas dish-water.' She gave him fits, scolded like everything, till all at once he drew himself up and said: 'Old lady scold heap much; Wang no be bossed by hens.' And he turned and walked off, and left her standing there, with her mouth wide open."
"Good enough for her!" applauded Howard. "I only hope Janey'll serve her the same way."
"I don't believe I do," said Allie thoughtfully. "She's here, and we'll have to make the best of her. But don't you pity Ned and Grant, to have to stand her all the time?"
The predicted explosion was not slow in coming. Charlie had come in after his lessons, the next morning, clasping a huge watermelon in his arms, and, without a word to Mrs. Pennypoker, he had carried it through to the kitchen.
"Here, Janey," he called; "I'm awfully hungry, and if you'll cut this up for us to eat now, before lunch, I'll give you a quarter of it. You'd better do it, for it's the last one you'll get this year."
With the zeal of her melon-loving race, Janey's eyes glistened, as she received the treasure.
"Dat's a gay one, Mars' Charlie!" she exclaimed, as she snapped her fingers against its green rind, and listened delightedly to the clear, crisp sound. "Janey'll cut it right up for you, befo' she sets de table or anything. You all likes melons so well, you ought to see 'em we has down Souf. Reckon you'd jus' about bu'st you'selves, eatin' 'em."
She gave the melon one more ecstatic embrace, and dandled it fondly in her arms for a moment; then she laid it carefully down on the table, while she went for a knife.
Green rind, red meat;
All juicy, so sweet.
Dem dat has money mus' come up an' buy;
And dem dat hasn't mus' stan' back an' cry
Wa-a-a-atermelon!'"
She crooned to herself, as she returned with the knife in her hand, and stuck it in, clear to the heart of the fruit before her.
"What's that, Janey?" asked Allie, who had followed Charlie out into the kitchen.
"Dat? Dat's a song I done heard an ol' man singin', one day. He had some melons to sell, out on de corner by my mudder's house, an' he kep' a singin' it ober an' ober. Ah, dat's a fine one!" she added contentedly, as the rich red heart of the melon appeared. She paused for a moment, then she cocked her head on one side, as she gazed rapturously at the great piece which Charlie offered her. "You all know how me an' my brudder use' to eat our melons, when mammy wan' roun' to smack us?" she inquired suddenly.
"How'd you do it?" asked Charlie, laughing.
"Dis way. See?" And clutching the piece in both hands, she buried her face in it, and began to devour it, much as a squirrel gnaws the meat out of a walnut.
So absorbed was she in her enjoyment of her feast, that she did not hear the door open and Mrs. Pennypoker come into the kitchen.
"Jane!" said the strong voice.
Janey started at the sound, and choked on a seed.
"Yes, mis'," she responded as soon as she could speak, while she raised her head from the rind.
"What are you doing?" demanded Mrs. Pennypoker sternly.
Her manner was not encouraging. There was a defiant flash in Janey's eyes, as she said sullenly,—
"Ol' mis' done got eyes. What she s'pose I's doin'?"
"But I told you to get the lunch."
"I was goin' to, in a minute; but Mars' Charlie done wanted me to cut his melon, an' I thought 'twouldn't make no difference."
"You are not here to think; you are here to do the work," said Mrs. Pennypoker magisterially. "If I tell you to do something, you must do it."
At the last words, Janey drew herself up to her full height and glared at Mrs. Pennypoker. Something in the unconscious dignity of her figure, as she stood there, seemed to dwarf her temporary mistress into insignificance.
"You cyarn' say mus' to me," she said in a slow, repressed tone. "Dese ain' no slave days, an ol' mis' cyarn' make 'em so. I ain' no heathen an' I ain' no slave. My mammy bought herself an' her husban', an' we's all freeborn."
She had moved forward a step or two, and thrown out her hand, while her eyes gleamed with an angry luster. Suddenly she controlled herself.
"I sha'n' say no mo'," she went on slowly; "'cause I might forget myself an' be sassy, an' I don' wan' to do dat. But ol' mis' better not interfere with me, an' say mus', or I'll pack my trunk an' not come back till Mrs. Burnam comes home. She buys my time, an' while I'm yere I belongs to her; but she don' bully me. She's a lady like what we use' ter have down Souf, befo' de war; not like you Yankees."
Into her final sentence Janey had compressed all the scorn of which she was capable. For a moment longer, she stood facing Mrs. Pennypoker; then, turning on her heel, she left the room.
Mrs. Pennypoker was the first one of the group to come to her senses.
"That girl shall leave the house to-night," she exclaimed angrily. "I won't have her here an hour longer."
"You aren't going to send Janey off!" demanded Allie indignantly.
"I certainly shall not keep her after what has occurred," returned Mrs. Pennypoker coldly.
"But you can't; she isn't yours. She's mamma's," remonstrated Allie.
"I am taking your mother's place for the present, and I shall not retain a servant who is so disrespectful," answered Mrs. Pennypoker again. "I am surprised at you, Alice, for interfering in a matter which does not belong to you."
"It does belong to me, too," returned Allie mutinously. "Janey's a splendid girl, and mamma just thinks everything of her. She'll never forgive you, if you send her off; and what's more, I hope she won't; so there, now!"
"Alice!" And there was no mistaking the meaning of Mrs. Pennypoker's tone.
"I don't care if 'tis!" exclaimed Allie, with illogical recklessness. "You're just too mean, and I don't blame Janey one bit."
"Alice!" repeated Mrs. Pennypoker. "You may go to your room, and not leave it again to-day. I shall tell your mother exactly what has occurred."
"Tell away!" returned Allie. "I just hope you will. I'm not afraid of mamma; she's not so cross as some people." And forcing back the angry tears, she walked away in the direction of her room, leaving the half-frightened boys to look alter her in silent sympathy.
Once in the safe retreat of her own room, Allie's courage broke down, and, throwing herself on her bed, she began to cry convulsively, as she realized all the injustice of her punishment, all the petty tyranny she had borne for the past three days. For a few moments the sobs came faster and faster. Then, when her first excitement was over, she began to think. Mrs. Pennypoker ought to be ashamed of herself for abusing them so; and how angry her mother would be when she knew it! Perhaps the long day of loneliness and fasting would make her ill; then Mrs. Pennypoker would be sorry. It might be that she would never get over it, but would go into a decline. How they would all mourn for her! She went on to plan the minutest details of her funeral with all the gloomy cheerfulness of an undertaker; but, when she came to fancy the loneliness of Howard and Charlie, the distressing picture overcame her, and she began to sob once more. However, the tears would not flow quite so readily this time; and, under all her pity for herself, she began to wonder uneasily if, perhaps, she had not been a little hasty and rude to Mrs. Pennypoker. It might be that her mother would not altogether sympathize with her, after all. This was not an agreeable thought, and, to silence it, she sprang up and crossed the room to put some cold water on her flushed and swollen face. As she did so, she saw a slip of paper tucked under the door, and she seized it eagerly, for it was addressed to her, and in Charlie's writing.
"Good for you, Allie!" it said. "Keep up your pluck till afternoon, and we'll have some fun then."
There was something encouraging in the boyish sympathy; and, as Allie stood caressingly rubbing the note against her cheek, she found herself wondering what he could mean by his reference to possible fun in the afternoon. The outlook for the rest of the day did not seem to promise much in the way of enjoyment; but Allie knew her cousin's ingenuity well enough to rely upon his word, so she could resign herself to wait.
The next hour was a long one to the young prisoner, who wandered restlessly about the room, or tried to amuse herself with a book, although all the time she was inwardly dwelling upon the ignominy of her punishment, and dreading lest it should reach the ears of Marjorie and the Everetts, or, worst of all, of Dr. Brownlee, whose good opinion she especially desired to retain. At the end of the hour, Mrs. Pennypoker herself appeared on the threshold, with a plate of crackers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Without a word to the captive, she set the meagre lunch upon the table, and withdrew, locking the door behind her. At this last insult, Allie's temper flashed up again. It was enough to punish her so severely; but it was not necessary to distrust her honor, and lock her up like a criminal. At least, she would not touch the rations her jailer had left. Deliberately she picked them up, and, going to the window, she threw out the water with a splash, and tossed the crackers after it. She hesitated for a moment, and then hurled the plate and glass after them, with an angry determination which sent them crashing far across the uneven ground beneath her window. That done, she sat down to read with a quieted conscience.
Through the closed door she could hear Mrs. Pennypoker moving to and fro about the house, and now and again Vic's baby voice fell upon her ears; but, for the most part, the house was very still. At length she heard some one calling her name in a low voice. Throwing aside her book, she went to the door and listened intently, till she heard the call repeated. This time it was evident that the sound came from outside the window. She hurried across the room and threw it wide open. In a moment more Charlie had scrambled into the room.
"Hullo!" he remarked, as he tossed his cap into a chair. "You're awfully warm in here, so let's leave the window open. We're safe enough, for Mrs. Pennypoker can't hear us. Besides, Dr. Hornblower is in the parlor talking to her, and she won't know anything more to-day."
"But what are you going to do?" asked Allie, watching him in amazement, as he seated himself at his ease and unbuttoned his light gray coat, to expose to view a great round parcel concealed inside it.
"I'm going to spend the afternoon with you, of course," returned Charlie composedly. "You didn't s'pose I was going back on you after the way you stuck to me last June? Well, not much! We could climb out of the window and go off, but she'd be sure to find it out, and that would only make it worse, so we'll stay here and have a lark."
"You're a dear old boy, Charlie!" And Allie embraced him tempestuously. "But how did you ever stand it to be shut in here so long, last summer? This last hour has 'most killed me."
"I wasn't all alone, you know, much of the time. But, I say, come off!" he remonstrated, as Allie renewed her demonstrations of affection. "You needn't stand my hair on end just because I've come. Here's a pie I sniped off the pantry shelf, for I thought most likely you'd be hungry."
"I'm nearly starved," answered Allie gratefully. "Mrs. Pennypoker did bring me some crackers this noon, though."
"Crackers aren't much good, and those are all gone by this time, aren't they?" inquired Charlie scornfully.
"Yes, every one; gone out of the window," returned her cousin disdainfully. "Charlie MacGregor, I'd have starved to death before I touched one of her old crackers!"
"That's the way to talk," said Charlie approvingly. "She's a Tartar and a Turk, Allie, and I'd like to tell her what I think of her—if I only dared. But, if I did, she'd just lock us up in different rooms; and it's more fun to be together."
"I did tell her—Oh, dear, I wish mamma would come back," sighed Allie. "How shall we ever stand it three more days, Charlie?"
"Grin and bear it, mostly," returned Charlie, philosophically. "Janey's packed up her clothes and gone off, and she says she won't step into this house again till auntie gets back. I don't blame her; but Mrs. Pennypoker'll have to turn cook, or else send over for Wang. But go on and eat your pie, Allie, and you'll feel better. She's a Turk, I tell you; but I'll see that auntie knows all about it, and I know she won't think you're a bit to blame."
"But, Charlie, you aren't going to stay here all this everlasting afternoon," remonstrated Allie, as her woe yielded to the combined influences of her cousin's consolation and his pie. "It isn't fair at all, when you might be off with the boys having a good time."
"Well, it strikes me this ought to be my innings," answered Charlie quietly, while he settled his glasses on his nose and then took up the book which his cousin had just tossed aside. "How many days and weeks, I'd like to know, did you stay in here with me, when 't was hot and dark and stuffy here! It's only fair that you should let me take my turn now. You needn't talk to me, if you don't want to; but I shall stay here as long as I choose, and you can't put me out, so you may as well make up your mind to it."
Two hours later, as Mrs. Pennypoker's step was heard in the hall outside, Charlie quietly let himself drop from the window-sill. Then he turned back to whisper,—
"Just don't you say anything about it, Allie; we aren't even now, and we sha'n't be, very soon. Besides, it's worth all the rest to have the fun of getting the inside track of her. Good-by till breakfast-time!" And he vanished around the corner of the house.
CHAPTER XIII.
AT THE NINE-HUNDRED LEVEL.
Late October had come, and already the snow-line was creeping down the mountain sides towards the little town in the cañon. Occasional flurries of snow filled the air, too, and the nights were sharp and frosty; but in the middle of the day it was still warm and bright, with a clearer, more bracing air than the summer had given, an air which tempted the young people out for long walks and rides up and down the valley. Louise often joined them in these expeditions, and it was no uncommon thing for them to be overtaken by Dr. Brownlee, who generally begged permission to spend a leisure hour with their party. This addition to their number was always hailed with delight by the children; for while the doctor usually took his place by the side of Louise, he was never too much absorbed in his companion to join the boys in their fun, or to treat Allie and Marjorie with the gentle chivalry which made them feel so grown up and elegant, a chivalry that is so rarely shown to children, yet never fails to afford them a delight even more keen than it gives to their older sisters.
Allie and the boys were coming up through the town, one Saturday morning, after a brisk walk in the clear, crisp air. They had passed "tin-can-dom," as Howard called the open field just below the town, which was thickly strewn with these indigestible relics of past feasts, and were just outside the fence separating Chinatown from its American surroundings, when Allie stopped abruptly.
"Look there!" she exclaimed, pointing over the low wall into the enclosure, where the tiny log cabins were scattered irregularly about the ground, and where long-tailed, moon-faced Chinamen were scuffling aimlessly about. "Isn't that Vic?"
"Where?" asked Howard, while Charlie added,—
"What an idea, Allie! Of course he wouldn't be in there."
"Yes; but 'tis Vic. I know that long red coat of his," responded Allie hastily. "Right in there, between those two log houses—see?"
True enough, there in the forbidden ground of Chinatown stood Vic, his red coat and fez making him a striking little figure against the dull background of a rough log house, as he gazed intently up into the yellow face of an elderly Chinaman, who was carrying two buckets of water hanging from a yoke across his shoulders.
"'Tis, after all; but what can he be doing there?" said Charlie, staring in astonishment at the scene before him.
"Never mind what he's doing," said Allie. "He ran away, I suppose; but we must get him home. I'll wait here, while you go and bring him out. Mamma'd be dreadfully frightened if she knew where he was. Now hurry!"
The boys dashed away, and soon came back to her side, with the small wanderer between them. Vic was in a state of open rebellion over this abrupt ending to his explorations, and lifted up his voice in lamentation, as Allie firmly turned his steps towards home.
"Everybody went off," he explained in an aggrieved tone. "You went, and Ben went, and papa went, and ven I went, too. And I will go back to see the Moolly-cow-man."
But his sister refused to be persuaded, and Vic's voice died away to a whisper, as he continued to babble to himself of the wonders he had seen in his walk.
"There's one thing, Allie, that I don't get used to, in this country," remarked Charlie, as they were crossing the main street; "and that's the signs. See there!" And he pointed to a long, white building, one door of which was surmounted with the sign, in great gilt letters: Embalming Emporium; while a board, swinging out from its next-door neighbor, bore the legend, Shoos 1/2 Soled Here. "But, I say," he added, as they came in sight of the house; "what do you suppose Ned and Grant want? They've camped out on our piazza, as if they meant to stay there. Hi—i!" he shouted, waving his cap above his head.
"Hurry u—up!" responded Ned, returning the salute with interest.
"Thought you'd never come," added Grant, as they drew nearer.
"What do you want?" asked Howard.
But before Ned had time to reply, Allie interposed,—
"Just wait one minute, do, till I take Vic into the house to mamma. Is she very much worried about him?"
"Don't believe she is," answered Ned. "She didn't say anything about it. Probably she hasn't missed him at all. Now," he resumed, as Allie came back to the piazza; "I've been waiting here for thirty-nine ages and a quarter; and I was just ready to give up and go home again. Papa sent me up to tell you that he's going to take a crowd down the Blue Creek, this afternoon, and to ask you if you don't want to come along with us."
"I shouldn't think he'd dare take Charlie again, for fear he'd hoodoo it all," said Grant disrespectfully.
"Who's going?" asked Howard.
"All of us; Cousin Euphemia and all; and Dr. Brownlee and Marjorie and you. We're going to have an early dinner, and start at one, so we can go through the smelter, after we come up. Cousin Euphemia is making her will now, most likely; she didn't want to go, but papa talked her into it. You'll be on hand; won't you?"
"We'll be thar," responded Howard, with a twang that might have done credit to Janey.
"Isn't it fun to go!" said Allie delightedly. "I've always wanted to go down, and never could. You and I will be the green ones, Charlie; all the rest have been before."
"The doctor and Cousin Euphemia haven't," said Ned. "But I'll take care of you, Allie, and show you all there is to be seen. Come along, Grant; we must be going." And the brothers departed in haste.
Punctually at one o'clock, Charlie and his cousins were at the Everetts', where they found that their party had received one unexpected addition. The Reverend Gabriel Hornblower had dropped in to dinner, and common courtesy had made it necessary for Mr. Everett to invite him to join the expedition. As they left the house, Louise, with her father and Dr. Brownlee, took the lead, while close in the rear walked Dr. Hornblower, edging forward as far as possible, in order to join in their conversation, with an utter disregard of Mrs. Pennypoker, who had attached herself to his side, and manifested every intention of maintaining her position. The short walk through the town was quickly taken; and it was still early in the afternoon when they stood beside the shaft. Mr. Somers, Mr. Everett's assistant, was waiting for them there; and, a few moments later, the new cage had come up the shaft, and halted to receive them.
"But what makes them call it a cage?" demanded Allie, eyeing with disfavor the pair of heavy platforms before her "I thought 'twould have openwork brass sides, like the elevators in Denver."
"And hot and cold water, and gas, and all the other modern improvements?" inquired Ned, as he helped himself to a pair of candles in their iron sockets, and passed one of them on to Allie. "Don't be a snob, Allie; you won't find much furniture down below."
"You take Mrs. Pennypoker and my daughter, with the gentlemen, on the upper deck, Somers," Mr. Everett was saying; "and I'll take these children in the lower, and look out for them there."
According to the usual method, the upper platform was brought to the level of the ground, to receive its freight, before the cage was raised the necessary seven feet, to allow Mr. Everett and the young people to step on the lower floor. Then they slowly sank away from the light, down, down, while Allie clutched Ned's protecting hand, and tried in vain to enjoy her novel ride. At length they came to a halt at a broad, square station, and the two decks of the cage were quickly unloaded.
"This is the nine-hundred level," Mr. Everett told them, as they stood grouped about him. "We have three more below,—they're one hundred feet apart, you know,—and we're still sinking the shaft. The cage in that next compartment is given up to the men who are doing the sinking."
"It's a rich vein, then, I take it," said Dr. Brownlee.
"A fine one, better than we supposed when we bought it. It dips down sharply to the east, and we cross it at the five-hundred, so we don't have to work so far in any one direction to strike it. You see, we run a cross-cut straight out from the shaft, till we hit the vein; then we turn both ways and run along through it; so, at every level, our workings are like a great T, with the stem growing larger with every hundred feet we go down."
"And this is how deep?" asked Louise.
"Nine hundred," repeated her father, while he hastily snatched Marjorie out of the path of an ore car, which came thundering down the cross-cut and turned abruptly into the station.
"It's a solemn thing to feel that you are nine hundred feet from the light," observed Mrs. Pennypoker, as she gathered her skirts more closely about her.
"Yes," responded the Reverend Gabriel, waving his right hand, lamp and all; "it reminds one of the mighty power of the earthquake, when it stoops to trample on a worm."
Then they were silent, as they followed Mr. Everett through the long gallery, pausing now and then near one of the electric lights that dotted the corridor, to listen to his off-hand explanations of the work below ground. Dr. Brownlee appeared to be especially interested in the subject.
"How do you get the ore on the cage?" he asked. "Do you run it on, car and all, or do you unload it?"
"How little these Eastern folks do know!" remarked the Reverend Gabriel, in an audible aside to Louise.
"Perhaps we should all be better off, if we knew more about it," she replied, with a touch of coldness in her tone, as she turned her back upon the Reverend Gabriel, and took her place at her father's side, where she met the amused glance of Dr. Brownlee, who had overhead both remarks.
"They signal the cage, and run the car on it," answered Mr. Everett. "We don't let but one man ring for the engineer. He has to stay near one of the stations, where he can hear; and when the miners want him, they go to the station and pound their signal on one of the water-pipes, for him to repeat. We had a green hand, though, that tried to improve on our plan, a few years ago. He attempted to catch the cage on the fly, as it went up past him; and he actually aimed the car at it, and ran it down."
"Did he hit it?" asked Charlie.
"Hardly," returned Mr. Everett, laughing. "The cage was too quick for him, and went on up; and both the car and the man fell clear to the bottom of the shaft."
"Oh-h!" And Marjorie's eyes grew round with horror. "I should think 'twould have hurt him awfully."
"Well, yes, Marjorie; I should have thought it would," said Howard, mimicking her tone, while the others joined in the laugh at her expense.
Then they went on to the end of the cross-cut, and, turning at a sharp angle, they came into the drift, the long gallery running through the vein. For some distance, the drift, like the cross-cut, was lined with timbers, then the lining ceased, as they neared the end of the drift, where the miners were hard at work, drilling for fresh blasts, or tearing out the ore loosened by the last explosion, and loading it into the little car which stood ready to be run down the track to the station. Seven feet above, so that the roof of the lower level formed the flooring of the next, was another short gallery, where the men were busy stoping, digging out the ore from the upper tier. Dingy and grimy as they were, it was fascinating to watch them, burrowing, like so many moles, in the depths of the earth. The visitors lingered to look at them until they were frightened away by the preparations for a blast; then they slowly made their way back to the station, pausing a moment to watch a loaded car, as it rolled from the rails to the polished steel flooring, and swung around the corner into position, to wait for the cage. Mr. Everett looked at his watch.
"I'm sorry to hurry you," he said; "but I think we ought to be going; don't you, Somers? It's change day; and at three the cages will be full."
"Change day!" remarked Charlie to his cousin, in an undertone; "what's that?"
"Hush!" she whispered. "Don't show Dr. Hornblower how little you know. Remember that you're from the East, too."
But Dr. Brownlee was animated by no such motives of prudence, and quietly asked for an explanation of the term.
"We have two sets of men," Mr. Everett answered. "The day shift goes on at seven, and works till half past five; and the night one comes on at seven in the evening, and stays till half past five in the morning. Of course that's harder on one set of men than the other, so, once in two weeks, we have what we call change day. The day shift goes on at seven, and works till three; then the night fellows come right on and stay till eleven; and the old day shift comes back at eleven. By the next morning, you see, their places are just changed, and the night men are working in the daytime. Now," he added, as he stepped to the shaft, to ring his own private signal; "we'll go up and take a look through the smelter before—Why, where are Mrs. Pennypoker and Dr. Hornblower?"
There was a startled pause. No one had seen the missing members of the party since they had left the head of the drift, although they had supposed them to be following close behind their companions. Turning, they looked back up the cross-cut, but there was no Mrs. Pennypoker in sight. It seemed impossible that they could have lost their way, in a long, straight corridor, less than ten feet wide; some accident must have befallen them. Worst of all, there was no time for delay; the cage had just come for them, and in the distance could be heard the steps of the approaching miners, as they came in for the change of shift.
"We mustn't keep the cage waiting for us, now," said Mr. Everett hastily. "You go up with the others, Somers, and I'll go back and look them up. They can't be far off."
Turning, he walked rapidly back up the cross-cut, expecting at every moment to meet the truants, so sure was he that they had only loitered along behind the others, absorbed in discussing the spiritual welfare of Wang Kum and his Mongolian brethren. It was not until he had turned into the drift, and paused to question a group of miners whom he met there, that he began to be seriously alarmed. The men had not seen Mrs. Pennypoker and her escort since they had all been together at the head of the drift. Mr. Everett felt no hesitation in accepting their statement, for, in their ignorance of the relationship between the superintendent and his cousin, the miners spoke of Mrs. Pennypoker's appearance in such unguarded terms as left him no room to doubt their knowledge of the person for whom he was seeking. However, he still kept on to the head of the drift, thinking it possible that they might be in some dark corner, though he could think of no reason which should tempt them to conceal themselves in any such fashion. But his quest was unavailing, and, facing about, he returned to the head of the cross-cut where he paused, uncertain what course to pursue. Then he opened his mouth and shouted their names, with the full power of his strong bass voice. The sound echoed up and down through the galleries and then died away, to be followed by a high-pitched feminine shriek.
The cry came from the opposite end of the drift from the one which they had been exploring, and Mr. Everett turned his steps in that direction. This end had been abandoned, some days before, in consequence of a serious leak in the pipes connecting with the pump; and it was now only lighted for a short distance beyond the mouth of the cross-cut. Now that the pump had ceased, the water had settled over the floor, to form a deep, thick clay which rendered progress slow and difficult. He had just passed the last electric light and was proceeding even more cautiously than before, when he came to an abrupt halt. The feeble glimmer of his miner's lamp had fallen upon a strange picture, and one whose meaning he was not slow to grasp.
At one side of the drift and leaning against the wall, stood Mrs. Pennypoker, with one foot drawn up under her, much in the attitude of a meditative hen. A few feet away from her, the doctor was bending forward, with his lamp extended in one hand, while with his other he held his cane, which he was poking about in the soft, sticky mud.