ion of Sobrante her
courage failed. She forgot that she was a "nurse"; forgot the good
"behavior," forgot everything, indeed, but her mother's face and
Ned's mischievous affection. She dropped to her knees and buried her
face in the old man's pillow while she sobbed aloud:

"Oh, 'Forty-niner,' shall we ever see that home again?"

Weak and unstrung, the patient moaned in sympathy, while tears fell from
his own eyes; and it was upon this dismal tableau that Mr. Hale walked
in, unannounced.

"Hurrah, here! What's amiss? Been quarreling? Just when I've come to
bring you good news, too."

"Quarreling, indeed! Ephraim and I could never quarrel. Never.
But--but--this isn't Sobrante, and we're--I guess we're awful
homesick."

"That's a disease can be cured, you know. One of you, at least, can
go home. If you wish, Jessica, I will put you on a train and arrange for
one of your 'boys' to meet you at the railway terminus. But----"

"Hello, everybody!" called a cheery voice, and there in the doorway
was Ninian Sharp, smiling, nodding, and embracing all three with one
inspiring look. "What's that I overheard about 'home'? Been telling
state secrets, Hale? My plan beats yours, altogether. We're all going
'home' to Sobrante, in a bunch, one of these fine days. _The Lancet_
never fails!"

Jessica sprang to him and caught his hand to kiss it. He had not been
to see them for some days and she had missed him sadly. Far more than
Mr. Hale he made her feel that the mystery surrounding "that missing New
York money," as she called it, would certainly be explained. It was he
who, by questions innumerable, had recalled to her and to Ephraim the
names of persons with whom Mr. Trent had ever done business. Incidents
which to her seemed trifling had been of moment in his judgment. With
the slight clews they had given him, as the first link in the chain, he
had gone on unraveling the knots which followed with infinite patience
and perseverance. He kept Mrs. Trent informed of the welfare of her
daughter, and, without neglecting his legitimate business, did the
thousand and one things which only the busiest of persons can have time
to do. For it's always the indolent who are overcrowded.

"Oh! Mr. Sharp! Have you found it all out?"

"Not I. Hale, here, has found out some things, himself. But he's a
lawyer, which means, a--beg pardon--a snail. If newspapers were as slow
as the law--h-m-m--we might all take a nap. Look here, Miss Sunshine,