could surely only have been endured by a man of
his peculiar mind.

No matter what the toil of his claim, he always seemed to find leisure
and delight in saving his wife from the domestic cares of their home.
And though weary to the breaking-point with his toil, and consumed by
a hunger that was well-nigh painful, when food was short he never
seemed to realize his needs until Jessie and the children had eaten
heartily. And afterwards no power on earth could rob him of an hour's
romp with the little tyrants who ruled and worshiped him.

Now, as he stood before the littered table, he glanced out at the sun.
The morning was advancing all too rapidly. His eyes drifted across to
his wife. She was still reading. A light sigh escaped him. He felt he
should be out on his claim. However, without further thought he took
the boiler of hot water off the stove and began to wash up.

It was the clatter of the plates that made Jessie look up.

"For goodness' sake!" she exclaimed, with exasperation. "You'll be
bathing the children next. Say, you can just leave those things alone.
I've only got a bit more to read to the end of the chapter."

"I thought maybe it 'ud help you out some. I--"

"You give me a pain, you sure do," Jessie broke in. "You get right out
and hustle gold, and leave things of that sort to others."

"But I don't mind doing it, truth I don't," Scipio expostulated
mildly. "I just thought it would save you--"

Jessie gave an artificial sigh.

"You tire me. Do you think I don't know my work? I'm here to do the
chores--and well I know it. You're here to do a man's work, same as
any other man. You get out and find the gold, I can look after the
house--if you can call it a house," she added contemptuously.

Her eyes were quite hopeless as she let them wander over the
frowsiness in the midst of which she sat. She was particularly
discontented this morning. Not only had her thoughts been rudely
dragged back from the seductive contemplation of the doings of the
wealthy ones as the dime fiction-writer sees them, but there was a
feeling of something more personal. It was something which she hugged
to her bosom as a priceless pearl of enjoyment in the midst of a
barren, rock-bound life of squalor.

The sight of him meandering about the room recalled these things.
Thoughts, while they troubled her, yet had power to stimulate and
excite her; thoughts which she almost dreaded, but which caused her
exquisite delight. She