oated high above Cucamonga,--so high that every nook and
fastness of the mountain lay revealed in her soft, nocturnal splendor;
even the tops of the mottled sycamores, far below in Sawpit Canon, were
touched with a vague, ghostly light; and still the council that sat in
Lysander Sproul's kitchen was loud-voiced and shrill. The children,
huddled in a corner that they might whisper and giggle beyond the reach
of manual reproof, had fallen asleep, a confused heap of dejected
weariness. The baby's head hung at an alarming angle from his father's
arm, and even the acrid, high-pitched notes of his grandmother's voice
failed to disturb the sleep of bedraggled innocence.

"So he's a-wantin' to develop the canon, is he? Time wuz when you'd 'a'
thought that canon wuz good enough even fer him, from the lawin' and the
lyin' and the swearin' he done to git his clutches onto it. Well, if he
wants to improve it, why don't he improve it? Nobody's goin' to hender."

"That's what I told 'im," answered her son-in-law, taking the pipe from
his mouth, and sending a halo of blue smoke about the head of his
slumbering charge. "He said he wanted to improve the water. 'Nobody's
goin' to kick at that,' says I; 'if they do, they're fools. I think the
old lady'll tell you to go ahead. I shouldn't be s'prised, though,' says
I, 'if she'd add that the water o' Sawpit Canon's good enough fer her
without any improvin'.'"

Mrs. Sproul glanced at her mother triumphantly.

"I told you Sandy talked up to him, mother. Oh, I do _wish_ you'd 'a'
wore your uniform, Sandy; then you could 'a' rose up before him
proudly, an' told 'im you'd fought the battles of your country before"--

"Oh, shucks, Minervy!" interrupted the old woman dejectedly; "what does
Nate Forrester care for anybody's country? What else'd he say,
Lysander?"

"He said--well"--the man hesitated, and hitched his high shoulders a
trifle uneasily--"he swore he hated to do business with a woman."

Spots of a deep, coppery red glowed through the tan of the old woman's
cheeks.

"He said that, did 'e, Lysander Sproul? Then he must 'a' found some
woman hard to cheat. Nate Forrester don't hate to do business with
nobody he can cheat. The next time you see 'im, tell 'im it's mut'chal."

"I told 'im that," answered Lysander grimly. "I told 'im he didn't hate
to do business with the hull female sect no worse than this partikiler
woman hated to do business with him; but I reckoned you wouldn't both