e?"

"To-morrow--silver-mounted."

Cherokee took out his watch.

"Half-past nine. We'll hit the Junction plumb on time with Christmas
Day. Are you cold? Sit closer, son."

XVIII

A CHAPARRAL PRINCE

Nine o'clock at last, and the drudging toil of the day was ended. Lena
climbed to her room in the third half-story of the Quarrymen's Hotel.
Since daylight she had slaved, doing the work of a full-grown woman,
scrubbing the floors, washing the heavy ironstone plates and cups,
making the beds, and supplying the insatiate demands for wood and
water in that turbulent and depressing hostelry.

The din of the day's quarrying was over--the blasting and drilling,
the creaking of the great cranes, the shouts of the foremen, the
backing and shifting of the flat-cars hauling the heavy blocks of
limestone. Down in the hotel office three or four of the labourers
were growling and swearing over a belated game of checkers. Heavy
odours of stewed meat, hot grease, and cheap coffee hung like a
depressing fog about the house.

Lena lit the stump of a candle and sat limply upon her wooden chair.
She was eleven years old, thin and ill-nourished. Her back and limbs
were sore and aching. But the ache in her heart made the biggest
trouble. The last straw had been added to the burden upon her small
shoulders. They had taken away Grimm. Always at night, however tired
she might be, she had turned to Grimm for comfort and hope. Each time
had Grimm whispered to her that the prince or the fairy would come and
deliver her out of the wicked enchantment. Every night she had taken
fresh courage and strength from Grimm.

To whatever tale she read she found an analogy in her own condition.
The woodcutter's lost child, the unhappy goose girl, the persecuted
stepdaughter, the little maiden imprisoned in the witch's hut--all
these were but transparent disguises for Lena, the overworked
kitchenmaid in the Quarrymen's Hotel. And always when the extremity
was direst came the good fairy or the gallant prince to the rescue.

So, here in the ogre's castle, enslaved by a wicked spell, Lena had
leaned upon Grimm and waited, longing for the powers of goodness to
prevail. But on the day before Mrs. Maloney had found the book in her
room and had carried it away, declaring sharply that it would not do
for servants to read at night; they lost sleep and did not work
briskly the next day. Can one only eleven years old, living away from
one's mamma, and never