us
man?"

My, my, this fantastic Italian knew that words were wasted now. He was
like a snake with his sting. But Rainbow Pete was not an easy man. He
broke the arm with one twist, look, the knife went spinning on the
ledge. And at this moment the blasting in the rock began again below the
ledge. They were at it again, monkeying with powder. Oh, it was death
they were speaking to down there. It was like a battle between giants
going on, there were thunders and red gleams in the black valley; and
the candle-flame went shivering with the great noises.

"Here," said Rainbow Pete, "I will scatter you like the rocks of the
valley."

Oh, the righteous man. Isn't it a strange consideration, the voice of
Pal Yachy moving this crooked sailor to good deeds? Ay! He was a noble
man, hurling the Italian from the house by his ears. Oh, it's a
circumstance to be puzzling over. He threw the gold after him. Ay, the
gold after--like dirt; and here the clothes hung loose on his own body
where he had been starving in the search for bags like that.

Now, as he went kneeling by his wife, he discovered his son, by the
crowing under the blanket.

"Look here at the little nipper, old Greyback," he said, "come a little
way into the room. Look now, at the fat back for putting a little
palm-tree on, while he is young. This is truth, old fellow, here is true
gold lying at the foot of the rainbow, according to the prophecy."

Our old friend stopped to breathe and blink.

"He had staked this claim but he had never worked it," he said solemnly.
But isn't it strange, the same man who had been fashioning him like a
rainbow, should be pointing out the gold to him. Oh, there's no doubt
Pal Yachy was defeated in the end by his own voice--

He went away that night, leaving all to the sub-contractors. Heh! He was
not seen on Mushrat again. Still he had a remarkable voice. Many times
afterward I have heard Rainbow Pete playing on his flute--this is in the
evening when the ledge is quiet--but this is not the same thing. No, no,
he could never bewitch her with his music, she must love him for his
intention only, to be charming her. Ay! This is safer.

GET READY THE WREATHS[14]

[Note 14: Copyright, 1917, by The International Magazine Company.
Copyright 1918, by Fannie Hurst.]

BY FANNIE HURST

From _The Cosmopolitan Magazine_

WHERE St. Louis begins to peter out into brick-and limestone-kilns and
great scars of unworked and overworked q