ained a London market. There wasn't much ready money to spare yet; but
Tim could manage to pay Kate's way from San Francisco to Portland, and on
to his place, if she would come. Besides, there was her nest egg, her
dowry, from the sale of the gold bag.

Of course, Kate was dying to go, but would not even tell her sad-eyed,
pale-cheeked mistress that Tim was wanting her. It was only when, one day,
Angela noticed how miserable poor Kate was looking, that little by little
she drew out the whole truth. Then she was roused to interest, and
forgetfulness of herself.

"I'll tell you what I will do, Kate," she said with more animation than
she had shown for weeks. "I'll take Mr. Morehouse's very latest advice,
and run up north to Lake Tahoe, to stay till my new house is born. Then,
instead of your going to your Tim, he must come to you; and I'll give you
a wedding--oh, a beautiful wedding, with a white silk dress and a veil and
orange blossoms, and a cake big enough to last you the rest of your life.
You're not to make any objections, because I shouldn't be happy to have
you stay with me now that Tim's ready, and you know the idea always was
for you to go when I'd reached my farthest point north and nearest to
Oregon. Besides, it will do me good to plan for a wedding. And I mean to
give you your trousseau. You shall get the things here in San Francisco
before we start for Tahoe."

So that was why one evening Nick read in a San Francisco paper that "Mrs.
May, who has been staying at the Fairmont Hotel for several weeks, left
last night for Lake Tahoe, where she has engaged rooms at the famous
Tahoe Tavern, and may remain for some time."

Afterward, when he sent the paper on to Sara Wilkins, as he did send
papers now, with parcels of books and magazines, she too noticed the
paragraph.

"His star's gone as far north and as far from him as she can possibly go
and be in California," thought the school-teacher. And because Nick was
right, and her good little face hid a heart that was still better, she was
not glad, but very, very sorry.

When Kate was married to her good-looking Irishman, and the little
excitement of the wedding was over, Angela began to feel rather desolate.

There were a great many pleasant people at the tavern who would have been
kind to the stranger if she had let them be kind, but they were all so
merry and had so many intimate interests of their own that their goodness
to her seemed only to emphasize her