and lo, the earth
was opened, and its wealth poured out at the very feet of those who
had so long and so vainly sought it.

CHAPTER X

SOLVING THE RIDDLE

The new owner of the Padre's farm had quite recovered from the effects
of her disastrous journey. Youth and a sound constitution, and the
overwhelming ministrations of Mrs. Ransford had done all that was
needed to restore her.

She was sitting in an old, much-repaired rocking-chair, in what was
obviously the farm's "best" bedroom. Her trunks, faithfully recovered
from the wreck of the cart by the only too willing Buck, stood open on
the floor amidst a chaotic setting of their contents, while the old
farm-wife herself stood over them, much in the attitude of a faithful
and determined watch-dog.

The girl looked on indifferent to the confusion and to the damage
being perpetrated before her very eyes. She was lost in thoughts of
her own which had nothing to do with such fripperies as lawns, and
silks, and _suedes_, or any other such feminine excitements. She was
struggling with recollection, and endeavoring to conjure it. There was
a blank in her life, a blank of some hours, which, try as she would,
she could not fill in. It was a blank, as far as she could make out,
which terminated in her arrival at the farm _borne in the arms of some
strange man_.

Well might such a thought shut out considerations like the almost
certain destruction of a mere wardrobe at the hands of her ignorant
but well-meaning helper. It would have been exciting, too, but for her
memory of the latter stages of her journey. They were still painful.
There was still uncertainty as to what had happened to the teamster
and the horses.

At last, however, she abandoned further attempt to solve the riddle
unaided, and decided to question her housekeeper.

"Was it the same man who brought those trunks--I mean the same man
who--brought me here?" she demanded sharply.

"It surely was," replied Mrs. Ransford, desisting for a moment from
her efforts to bestow a pile of dainty shoes into a night-dress case
of elaborate drawn thread work. "An' a nice mess he's got things in.
Jest look at 'em all tossed about, same as you might toss slap-jacks,
as the sayin' is. It's a mercy of heaven, an' no thanks to him, you've
got a rag fit to wear. It surely ain't fer me to say it, but it's real
lucky I'm here to put things right for you. Drat them shoes! I don't
guess I'll ever git 'em all into this bag