"Oh, pa is a great deal better in his health, and has picked up even in
the last few days, so that he is able to walk round with crutches,"
said the elder sister. "The air here seems to invigorate him
wonderfully."

"And you know, Esther," said the younger, "I think he begins to take
more notice of things, especially when he is out-of-doors. He looks
around on the scenery, and his eye brightens, as if he knew all about
it; and sometimes he knits his brows, and looks down so, as if he was
trying to remember."

"You know, I suppose," exclaimed Esther, "that since his seizure his
memory has been a blank--that is, three or four years of his life seem
to have been dropped out of his recollection."

"It might be a mercy sometimes, Senora," said Don Caesar, with a grave
sigh, as he looked at the delicate features before him, which recalled
the face of the absent Mamie.

"That's not very complimentary," said the younger girl, laughingly;
"for pa didn't recognize us, and only remembered us as little girls."

"Vashti!" interrupted Esther, rebukingly; then, turning to Don Caesar,
she added, "My sister, Vashti, means that father remembers more what
happened before he came to California, when we were quite young, than
he does of the interval that elapsed. Dr. Duchesne says it's a
singular case. He thinks that, with his present progress, he will
recover the perfect use of his limbs; though his memory may never come
back again."

"Unless-- You forget what the doctor told us this morning,"
interrupted Vashti again, briskly.

"I was going to say it," said Esther, a little curtly. "UNLESS he has
another stroke. Then he will either die or recover his mind entirely."

Don Caesar glanced at the bright faces, a trifle heightened in color by
their eager recital and the slight rivalry of narration, and looked
grave. He was a little shocked at a certain lack of sympathy and
tenderness towards their unhappy parent. They seemed to him not only
to have caught that dry, curious toleration of helplessness which
characterizes even relationship in its attendance upon chronic
suffering and weakness, but to have acquired an unconscious habit of
turning it to account. In his present sensitive condition, he even
fancied that they flirted mildly over their parent's infirmity.

"My brother Harry has gone to Red Dog," continued Esther; "he'll be
right sorry to have missed you. Mrs. Mulrady spoke to him about you;
you seem to have been