ill suddenly burst one day, and leave us floating alone in space,
with nothing anywhere to rest on."

"No, no, you are mistake. Here is this floor, very real, and dirt on
it to be washed away,--from your boots, also very real, is not? Go
away, Mr. 'Arry, but come to-night in your fine clothing, for we have
our fete. Mamma has finish her beautiful new dress, and we will be
gay. Is good to be sometimes joyful, is not? We have here no care,
only to make happy together, and if we cannot do that, all is
somber."

And that evening indeed, Amalia had her "fete." Larry told his best
stories, and Harry was persuaded to tell them a little of his life as
a soldier, and to sing a camp song. More than this he would not do,
but he brought out something he had been reserving with pride, a few
little nuggets of gold. During the weeks he had worked he had found
little, until the last few days, but happening to strike a vein of
ore, richer than any Larry had ever found, the two men were greatly
elated, and had determined to interest the women by melting some of it
out of the quartz in which it was bedded, and turning out for each a
golden bullet in Larry's mold.

They heaped hard wood in the fireplace and the cabin was lighted most
gloriously. While they waited for the red coals to melt the gold,
Amalia took her violin and played and sang. It was nearly time for the
rigor of the winter to abate, but still a high wind was blowing, and
the fine snow was piling and drifting about the cabin, and even
sifting through the chinks around the window and door, but the storm
only made the brightness and warmth within more delightful.

When Larry drew his crucible from the coals and poured the tiny
glowing stream into his molds, Amalia cried out with joy. "How that is
beautiful! How wonderful to dig such beauty from the dark ground down
in the black earth! Ah, mamma, look!"

Then Larry pounded each one flat like a coin, and drilled through a
small hole, making thus, for each, a souvenir of the shining metal.
"This is from Harry's first mining," he said, "and it represents good,
hard labor. He's picked out a lot of worthless dirt and stone to find
this."

Amalia held the little disk in her hand and smiled upon it. "I love so
this little precious thing. Now, Mr. 'Arry, what shall I play for you?
It is yours to ask--for me, to play; it is all I have."

"That sonnet you played me yesterday. The last line is, '"Quelle est
donc cette femme?" et n