ine, and it's your vocation to
worship the God of the Pilgrim Fathers and the Almighty Dollar'; and I
piped up, 'Right you are, uncle.' I was only a baby then." He added
these last words reflectively, as if pondering on the reminiscence, and
gained the object of his foolery--that she spoke.

"If you mean to tell me that you're fond of money, that's no news. I've
had sense to see _that_. If you thought I'd a mine belonging to me
somewhere that accounts for the affection you've been talking of so
much. I _begin_ to _believe_ in it now."

She meant her words to be very cutting, but she had not much mobility of
voice or glance; and moreover, her heart was like lead within her; her
words fell heavily.

"Just so," said he, bowing as if to compliment her discrimination. "You
may believe me, for I'm just explaining to you I'm not a saint, and that
is a sentiment you may almost always take stock in when expressed by
human lips. I was real sick last summer; and when I came to want a
holiday I thought I'd do it cheap, so when I got wind of a walking
party--a set of gentlemen who were surveying--I got them to let me go
along. Camp follower I was, and 'twas first rate fun, especially as I
was on the scent of what they were looking for. So then we came on
asbestos in one part. Don't know what that is, my dear? Never mind as to
its chemical proportions; there's dollars in it. Then we dropped down on
the house of the gentleman that owned about half the hill. One of them
was just dead, and he had a daughter, but she was lost, and as I was
always mighty fond of young ladies, I looked for her. Oh, you may
believe, I looked, till, when she was nowhere, I half thought the man
who said she was lost had been fooling. Well, then, I--" (he stopped and
drawled teasingly) "But _possibly_ I intrude. Do you hanker after
hearing the remainder of this history?"

She had sat down by the centre table with her back to him.

"You can go on," she muttered.

"Thanks for your kind permission. I haven't got much more to tell, for I
don't know to this mortal minute whether I've ever found that young lady
or not; but I have my suspicions. Any way, that day away we went across
the lake, and when the snow drove us down from the hills the day after,
the folks near the railroad were all in a stew about the remains of
Bates's partner, the poppa of the young lady. His remains, having come
there for burial, and not appearing to like the idea, had taken the
lib