pose;--and--SO DID I--only you anticipated me!"

In the laughter that followed Mr. Hamlin's frankness the colonel's
features relaxed grimly, and he shook the hands of his late possible
antagonists.

"And now," said Mr. Hamlin gayly, "you'll all adjourn to breakfast with
me--and try to make up for the supper we left unfinished last night."

It was the only allusion to that interruption and its consequences, for
during the breakfast the colonel said nothing in regard to his ward,
and the other guests were discreetly reticent. But Mr. Hamlin was not
satisfied. He managed to get the colonel's servant, Jim, aside, and
extracted from the negro that Colonel Starbottle had taken the child
that night to Pyecroft's; that he had had a long interview with
Pyecroft; had written letters and "walked de flo'" all night; that he
(Jim) was glad the child was gone!

"Why?" asked Hamlin, with affected carelessness.

"She was just makin' de kernel like any o' de low-down No'th'n
folks--keerful, and stingy, and mighty 'fraid o' de opinions o' de
biggety people. And fo' what? Jess to strut round wid dat child like he
was her 'spectable go to meeting fader!"

"And was the child sorry to leave him?" asked Hamlin.

"Wull--no, sah. De mighty curos thing, Marse Jack, about the gals--big
and little--is dey just USE de kernel--dat's all! Dey just use de ole
man like a pole to bring down deir persimmons--see?"

But Mr. Hamlin did not smile.

Later it was known that Colonel Starbottle had resigned his guardianship
with the consent of the court. Whether he ever again saw his late ward
was not known, nor if he remained loyal to his memories of her.

Readers of these chronicles may, however, remember that years after,
when the colonel married the widow of a certain Mr. Tretherick, both in
his courtship and his short married life he was singularly indifferent
to the childish graces of Carrie Tretherick, her beloved little
daughter, and that his obtuseness in that respect provoked the widow's
ire.

PROSPER'S "OLD MOTHER"

"It's all very well," said Joe Wynbrook, "for us to be sittin' here,
slingin' lies easy and comfortable, with the wind whistlin' in the pines
outside, and the rain just liftin' the ditches to fill our sluice boxes
with gold ez we're smokin' and waitin', but I tell you what, boys--it
ain't home! No, sir, it ain't HOME!"

The speaker paused, glanced around the bright, comfortable barroom,
the shining array of glass