Nelly's Silver Mine: A Story of Colorado Life

by Helen Hunt Jackson

CHAPTER IX

WET MOUNTAIN VALLEY

And now my story must skip over three whole years. There is so much to tell you about Nelly, and her life in Wet Mountain Valley, that, if I do not skip a good deal, the story will be much too long. The first year was a very happy and prosperous one. There were big crops of wheat and hay, and they were sold for good prices, so that Mr. March had more money than he needed to live on, and he was so pleased that he spent it all for new things,—some new books, some new furniture, and a nice new carriage much more comfortable for Mrs. March to drive in than the white-topped wagon. Mrs. March felt very sorry to have this money spent; she wanted it put away to keep; but, as I told you before, Mr. March always wanted to buy every thing he liked, and he thought that there would always be money enough.

"Why, Sarah!" he said; "here's the land! It can't run away! and we can always sell the hay and the wheat; and the cattle go on increasing every year. We shall have more and more money every year. By and by, when we get things comfortable around us, we can lay up money; but I really think we ought to make ourselves comfortable."

So Mr. March bought everything that Billy said he would like to have to work with on the farm, and he sent to Denver for books and for clothes for Rob and Nelly, and almost every month he added some new and pretty thing to the house. Thus it went on until at the end of the year, all the money which had been made off the farm was gone, and all their own little income had been spent too. Not a penny had been laid up in the house except by Billy and Lucinda. They had laid up two hundred and fifty dollars apiece. They had each had three hundred and had spent only fifty.

"Luce," said Billy, "one more such year's, this, an' we can take that little house down to Cobb's and farm it for ourselves."

"Yes," said Lucinda, hesitatingly, "but I'd a most rather stay's we are. I don't ever want to leave Mrs. March 'n' the children; and you 'n' I couldn't be together any more'n we are now."

"Why, Luce!" said Billy; and he walked out of the kitchen without another word. He was grieved, Lucinda ran after him.

"Billy!" she said.

"What?" said Billy, chopping away furiously at a big pine log.

"I didn't mean that I wouldn't go if you thought best; only that I hated to leave the folks. Of course, I expect we'll go when the time comes. You needn't get mad."

"Oh, I ain't mad," said poor Billy; "but it sounded kind o' disappintin', I tell yer. I like the folks's well's you do; but a man wants to have his own place, and his children a growin' up round him; but I shan't ask you to go till you're ready: you may rest 'sured o' that." And with this half way making up, Lucinda had to be satisfied.

Before the second summer was over, Mr. March was quite ready to acknowledge that it would have been wiser to follow his wife's advice, and lay up all the money which they did not absolutely need to spend. Just as the crops were well up, and bidding fair to be as large as before, there came all of a sudden, in a night, a great army of grasshoppers and ate everything up. You little children in the East who have seen grasshoppers only a few at a time, as you walk through the fields in the summer, cannot have the least idea of how terrible a thing an army of grasshoppers can be. It comes through the air like a great cloud: in less than a minute, the ground, the fences, the trees, the bushes, the grass, the door-steps, the outsides of the windows, are all covered thick with them; millions and millions of millions, all eating, eating, as fast as they can eat. If you drive over a road where they are, they rise up in great masses, their wings making a whistling noise, and horses are afraid to go along. Think of that: a great creature like a horse afraid of such little creatures as grasshoppers! Nobody would believe without seeing it, how a garden or a field looks after one of these grasshopper armies has passed over it. It looks as bare and brown as if it had been burned with fire. There is not left the smallest bit of green leaf in it. This is the way all Mr. March's fields looked in one week after the grasshoppers came into the valley. All the other farmers' fields were in the same condition. It was enough to make your heart ache to look at them. After there was nothing more left to eat, then the great army spread its wings and moved on to the South.

Mr. March looked around him in despair. It had all happened so suddenly he was confused and perplexed. It was almost like having your house burn down over your head. In one week he had lost a whole year's income. It was too late for the things to grow again before the autumn frosts which come very early in the valley.

This was real trouble. However, Mr. and Mrs. March kept up good courage, and hoped it would never happen again. They sold their pretty new carriage and all the other things that they could spare, to get money to buy food for themselves and for the cattle; and they told Billy and Lucinda that they could not afford to keep them any longer.

"We must do all our own work this winter, Billy," said Mr. March; "if you don't get any thing better to do, I'll be glad of you next summer; but this winter we have got to be as saving as possible. Rob will help me, and Nelly'll help her mother: we must put our shoulders to the wheel like the rest."

Billy was not surprised to hear this. On the morning the grasshoppers appeared, he had said to Lucinda:—

"Luce, do you see those pesky varmints? They'll jest clean out this valley in about ten days, 'n' you 'n' me may's well pack our trunks. There won't be victuals for any extra mouths here this year, I tell you; I shouldn't wonder if it jest about broke Mr. March up. He hain't got any ready money to fall back on. He paid down about all he had for this place, 'n' he's spent a sight this last year. Blamed if I don't wish I hadn't asked him for a thing. He's the generousest man ever was. It's a shame he should have such luck. I don't count on next summer nuther, for the ground'll be chuck full of the nasty beasts' eggs: ten to one they'll be worse next year than they are this: there's no knowin'. We might's well get married, Luce, an' if there's any thing doing in the valley at all, I can allers get it to do."

So, early in the autumn Billy and Lucinda were married, and went to live in "Cobbs's Cabin," a little log cabin about two miles from Mr. March's place, on the road to Rosita. The winter was a long and a hard one: hay was scarce and dear; and all sorts of provisions were sold at higher prices than ever before. The March family, however, were well and in good spirits. Nelly and Rob enjoyed working with their father and mother,—Rob in the barn and out in the fields, and Nelly in the house. They still studied an hour every day, and recited to their father in the evening. Rob studied Latin, and Nelly studied arithmetic; and their mother read to them every night a few pages of history, or some good book of travels. Rob did not love to study, and did only what he must; but Nelly grew more and more fond of books every day. She did not care for her dolls any longer. Even the great wax doll which Mrs. Williams had given her was now very seldom taken out of the box. All Nelly wanted to make her happy was a book: it seemed sometimes as if it did not make much difference to her what sort of a book. She read every thing she could find in the house; even volumes of sermons she did not despise; and it was an odd thing to see a little girl twelve years old reading a big, old leather bound volume of sermons. Rob used to laugh at her and say:—

"Oh, pshaw, Nell! what makes you read that? Read Mayne Reid's stories: they're worth while. What do you want to read sermons for, I'd like to know?" And Nelly would laugh too, and say:—

"Well, Rob, they aren't so nice as stories; but I do like to read them. It's like hearing papa preach."

To which Rob would reply, in a cautious whisper:—

"Well, I'm glad we don't have to hear papa preach any more. I hate sermons. I'm never going to church again's long's I live; and, when I'm a man, I sha'n't make my boys go to church if they don't want to."

The third summer began just as the one before it had begun, with a great promise of fine crops; but they were no sooner fairly under way, than the grasshoppers came again, and ate them all up. This was very discouraging. Mr. March did not know what to do. He sold a good many of his cows; and, before the summer was over, he sold some of his books; but that money did not last long, and they were really very poor. Now came the time when Nelly's little head began to be full of plans for earning money. She asked her mother, one day, to let her go up into Rosita and sell some eggs.

Mrs. March looked at her in surprise.

"Why, Nell," she said, "you couldn't walk so far."

"Oh, yes, I could," said Nelly. "Rob and I often walk up to the top of the hill: it's only a little way from Billy's house, and we often go there; and I know I could sell all our eggs,—and some butter too, if we could make enough to spare. I'd like to, too. I think it would be good fun."

"I'll ask your father," replied Mrs. March. "I don't think he'd be willing: but if we could get a little money that way, it would be very nice. We don't need half the eggs."

When Mrs. March told her husband of Nelly's proposition, his cheeks flushed.

"What a child Nelly is!" he exclaimed. "I can't bear to have her go round among those rough miners. I've often thought myself of carrying things up there to sell; but I thought my time was worth more on the farm than any thing I could make selling eggs. Oh, Sarah!" he exclaimed, "I never thought we should come to such a pass as this."

"Now, Robert, don't be foolish," said Mrs. March, gayly. "There isn't the least disgrace in selling butter and eggs. I'd as soon earn a living in that way as in any other. But I wouldn't like to have Nelly run any risk of being rudely treated."

"I don't believe she would be," said Mr. March; "her face is enough to make the roughest sort of a man good to her. You know how Billy worshipped her; and he's a pretty rough fellow on the surface. I think we might let her try it once, and see what happens."

And so it came to pass, that, early in the third summer of their stay in Wet Mountain Valley, Nelly set off one morning at six o'clock with a basket on her arm, holding three dozen of eggs and two pounds of butter, which she was to carry up into Rosita to sell. Rob pleaded hard to go too, but his father would not consent.

"Nelly will do better by herself," he said. "You will be sure to get into some scrape if you go."

"I don't care," said Rob, as he bade Nelly good-by: "you just wait till trout time: see if I don't make him let me go then. I can make more money selling trout than you can off eggs, any day. A gentleman told me one day when he drove by where I was fishing, one day last summer, that he'd give me forty cents a pound for all I had in my basket; and I told him I wasn't fishing to sell: I was real mad. I didn't know then we were going to sell things; but, if we are, I may as well sell trout; the creek's full of them."

"Well, we are going to sell things, I tell you," said Nelly: "I don't know what else there is for us to do. We haven't got any money; I think papa's real worried, and mamma too; and you and I've just got to help. It's too bad! I don't see what God made grasshoppers for."

"To catch trout with," said Rob, solemnly: "there isn't any thing else half so good."

Nelly laughed, and set off at a brisk pace on the road to Rosita. Her father stood in the barn door watching her. As her little figure disappeared, he said aloud:—

"God bless her! she's the sweetest child a man ever had!"

It was almost five miles from Mr. March's house to Rosita. For the first half of the way, the road lay in the open valley, and had no shade; but, as soon as it began to wind in among the low hills, it had pine-trees on each side of it; the little house where Billy and Lucinda lived stood in a nook among these pines. Nelly reached this house about seven o'clock, just as Billy and Lucinda were finishing their breakfast. She walked in without knocking, as she always did.

"Bless my soul alive!" exclaimed Billy. "Why, what on airth brings you here, to this time o' day, Nelly?"

Nelly had placed her basket on the floor and sat down in a rocking chair and was fanning herself with her sun-bonnet. Her face was very red from the hot sun, but her eyes were full of fun.

"Going up to Rosita, Billy," she said. "Guess what I've got in the basket."

"A kitten," said Lucinda: "your mother promised me one."

"Oh, dear, no!" said Nelly; "a weasel ate them up last Saturday night: all but one; and that one the old cat must keep. Guess again."

Billy did not speak. He guessed the truth.

"Your luncheon," said Lucinda.

"Yes," said Nelly, "my luncheon's in there, on the top; but underneath I've got eggs and I've got butter. I'm going to sell them in Rosita, and mamma said I was to stop and ask you what price I ought to tell the people. She didn't know."

Billy walked hastily out of the room and slammed the door behind him. This was what Long Billy always did when he felt badly about any thing. His first idea was to get out in the open air. Lucinda looked after him in astonishment. She did not think of any reason why he should feel sorry about Nelly's selling the butter and eggs, but she saw something was wrong with him.

"Why, you don't say so, Nelly!" she replied. "Well, I dare say you'll make a nice little penny. Eggs is thirty cents, and butter thirty-five to forty: your mother's ought to be forty. What're you goin' to do with the money?"

"Why, it isn't for myself!" said Nelly, in a tone of great astonishment: "it's for papa and mamma. I don't want any for myself. But you know we don't have hardly any money now; and I asked mamma to let me see if I couldn't get some in Rosita. Rob's going to sell trout too, by and by: as soon as they're plenty."

Billy came back into the room now; and, looking away from Nelly, he said:—

"See here, child: you let me carry them things up to town for ye. Ye stay here with Luce. I've got to go up anyway to-day or to-morrow. It's too fur for ye to walk."

"Oh, no, Billy, thank you!" said Nelly. "It isn't too far. I've often and often walked up to the hill where you look right into the streets. And I want to go; I wouldn't miss it for any thing."

"Well, I'm goin' along with yer, anyhow," said Billy. "Luce, you get me that flour-sack." And, as Lucinda went into the closet to get it, he followed her in and shut the door.

"Ain't that a shame, Luce," he said, "to have that little thing go round sellin' eggs? I expect they're awful hard up, or they wouldn't ever have done it. I tell you it jest cuts me. Mr. March don't know them miners 's well's I do. I shall tell him it ain't no place for gals."

"You're jest off all wrong now, Billy," replied Lucinda. "It's you that don't know miners. There wouldn't a man in Rosita say a rough word before Nelly no sooner'n you would. They'll jest all take to her: you see if they don't. And it's a real sensible thing for the children to do. I've been thinking o' doing the same thing myself. There's lots o' money to be made off eggs."

Billy was unconvinced; but he was too wise to say so.

"Well, well," he said, "we shall see. I'll go up with her to-day, and tell her which houses are the best houses to go to. If she's going to do it regular, she'd better have regular houses, and not be a gaddin' all about town, knockin' at doors. Oh, I tell you, Luce, it just cuts me! I can't stand it."

"Well, I don't see nothin' so very dreadful in it," replied Lucinda. "The gal's got the sense of a woman: she'll look out for herself as well as if she was twenty; and there's lots o' money to be made off eggs; I tell you that."

Nelly trudged along by Billy's side as cheery as a lark. She showed him a little brown silk bag she had to bring home the money in; it was in a pocket in her petticoat, and she had to lift up her gown to get at it.

"Mamma put that in yesterday," she said: "I asked her to. I saw a lady in the cars once, Mrs. Williams: such a beautiful lady,—she gave me that big wax doll. She carried all her money in a pocket in her petticoat, under her gown; because, she said, nobody could get at that to steal it."

Billy laughed immoderately. The idea of a little girl's pocket being picked on the road from Rosita down into Wet Mountain Valley was very droll.

"Well, Nelly," he said, "you've got a long head o' your own; but I reckon you took a little more pains than you needed to, that time. Nobody's goin' to think o' such a thing as pickin' your pocket here."

"Mamma thought it was a very good plan," said Nelly, with an air of dignity; "and I think so too. Men can't tell about women's pockets: pockets in trousers are much harder to get at." At which Billy only laughed the harder; and at night, when he went home and told Lucinda, he had another fit of laughter over it.

"To think o' that little mite standin' out to me that I couldn't jedge about women's pockets, pockets in trousers was so different! Oh, Lord!" said Billy, stretching his long legs out on the wooden settee: "I thought I should ha' died. You was right though, Luce, about the men. I'll own up. That child can go from eend to eend o' thet town safe's if she was one o' the Lord's angels in white,—if that's what they wear,—an' wings on her shoulders: only I never did believe much in the wings. But you oughter've seen how the men looked at her. You know she's got a different look about her somehow from most gals: she ain't pretty, but you can't take your eyes off her; an' she's so pretty spoken: that does it, more'n her looks. When we come by the stamp-mill, at noon, the men was all pourin' out; and afore I knew it we was right in the midst on 'em: a runnin' an' cuffin' and tumblin' each other, and not choosin' their words much. Nelly she took right hold o' my hand, but she never said nothin'.

"'Hullo, sis,' sez Jake Billings; and he pushed her little sun-bonnet back off her head. I declare I'd a notion to knock him over; but Nelly she looked up at him an' jest laughed a little, and sez she:—

"'Oh, please, sir, don't: you'll make me drop my eggs.' And he looked as ashamed as I ever see a man. And he put her bonnet right back on her head agin, and sez he:—

"'Let me carry 'em: won't ye, sis?'

"Ye see she wouldn't let me so much's touch the basket all the way, though I kept askin'. She said she was goin' to carry it always, an' she might as well begin; an' it wan't heavy; but I know 'twas, for all her sayin' 'twan't, heavy, that is, for her little pipes o' arms.

"'No, thank you,' said she to Jake: 'Billy wanted to carry them for me; but I wouldn't let him. I like to carry them all the way myself, to see if I can. I'm going to come every week, perhaps twice a week.'

"'Be ye?' said Jake. 'Whose little gal are ye, and where do ye live?'

"Then I told him all about her folks; and all the rest o' the men they walked along with us 's quiet and steady you wouldn't ha' known 'em; and Jake he took her right into that Swede's house, you know: Jan, the one that boards some o' the hands."

"Oh, yes!" said Lucinda; "and Ulrica, his wife's the nicest woman among the whole set."

"Well," continued Billy, "Jake he took her right in there. 'Jan'll buy all your eggs,' sez he: 'he's allers wantin' eggs.' I followed on: Nelly she was goin' with Jake, jest as if she'd ha' known him all her life; but she looked back, an' sez, in that little voice o' hern, jest like the sweetest fiddle I ever heard:—

"'Come along, Billy,' sez she, 'and see if I can't sell eggs.'

"An' as soon as she got inter the house, she walked right up to Ulrica, and held out her basket, and sez:—

"'Would you like to buy some eggs to-day, ma'am? I'm selling 'em for my papa and mamma: and they're thirty cents a dozen.'

"Ulrica don't understand English much, and Nelly's words didn't sound like the English she was used to; an' she couldn't make her out: but Jan he stepped up, and explained to her; and then Ulrica took hold o' Nelly's long braids o' hair, and lifted 'em up, and said something to Jan in their own language; an' he nodded his head, an' looked at Nelly real loving: and sez to me, in a whisper like:—

"'The wife thinks she looks like our little Ulrica: and she ain't unlike her, that's true; though she's bigger'n our little girl when she died.'

"All this time Nelly was a lookin' from one to the other on 'em with her steady eyes, an' makin' 'em out. They took all her eggs; but the butter they said she'd better take up to Mr. Clapp's, the owner o' the Black Bull Mine. Mis Clapp was very particular about her butter, an' 'd give a good price for it. So we went up to his house; and just as soon as Mis Clapp sot her eyes on Nelly, I could see how she took to her, by the way she spoke: an' she took the butter an' paid her the eighty cents; and you'd oughter seen Nelly a liftin' up her caliker gown to get to her petticoat, and drawin' out her little silk bag, an' putting in the money,—countin' it all as keerful as any old woman. Mis Clapp she laughed, and sez she:—

"'You're a real little business woman: ain't you?'

"'Yes'm,' sez Nelly, as grave as a jedge, 'I'm goin' to be. Would you like some more butter next week? I can bring some on Saturday.'

"Then Mis Clapp she jest engaged three pounds a week regular: an' Nelly thought that'd be all they could spare now."

"Pshaw!" interrupted Lucinda: "Mis March ain't no hand to skimp: but they might spare four's well's not."

"Well," said Billy, "I guess they will when they see the money a comin' in so easy. That'll be one dollar and sixty cents a week; and the eggs'll be say one dollar an' eighty more: that'll putty nigh keep 'em in meat 'n' flour. I'm real glad they thought on't. But I expect it goes agin Mr. March dreadful. That gal's the apple o' his eye: that's what she is."

"Well, he might go hisself, then," said Lucinda, scornfully, "if he thinks it's too lowerin' for his gal: I don't see nothin' to be ashamed on in't myself. If sellin' is honorable business for men, I don't see why it ain't for women 'n' gals."

"Now, Luce," exclaimed Billy, "don't be contrary. You know's well's I do what I mean. There's plenty o' things you don't want gals to do that's honorable enough, so fur's thet goes. But I must tell ye what Ulrica did 's we were comin' out o' town. There she stood waitin' in her door. She'd been watchin' for us all the arternoon; an' 's soon's she see us, she began a beckonin and a callin'; an' we crossed over, 'n' there she hed a little picture o' their gal that was dead; an' sez she, holdin' it up to me an' pointin' to Nelly:—

"'Is it not the same face? Do you not see she haf the same face as mine child?' And then she gave Nelly such a hug and kiss, and Nelly she kissed her back just as kind's could be, and sez she:—

"'I am glad I look like your little girl; but you mustn't cry, or I shall not come again.'

"'Oh, yes, yes, come again: all days come again!' sez Ulrica: and she was cryin' too all the time. Then she gave Nelly a paper bag full of queer little square cakes with a picture stamped on 'em. They have 'em at Christmas, she said, in her country. Nelly wan't fur takin' 'em; but I nudged her, 'n' told her to take 'em,—Ulrica'd be hurt if she didn't. After we got away from the house, Nelly sez to me, kind o' solemn, sez she:—

"'Billy, I don't like to look like so many dead little girls. Isn't it queer? That was what Mrs. Williams said,—that nice lady: she used to cry, and say I looked like her little girl that was dead; and now it's a little girl way off in Sweden. Isn't it queer?"

"But I tried to put it out of her head; but she kept talking about it all the way. I think people needn't say such things to children; it jest makes 'em gloomy for nothing."

The account Nelly gave to her father and mother of her day in Rosita was almost as graphic as Billy's. She had thoroughly enjoyed the day. She was pretty tired; but not too much so to have a fine scamper with Rob and the pet deer in the paddock after tea. And the air castles that she and Rob built that night after they had gone to bed were many stories high. Nelly was sure that if her mother would only make butter enough, and her father would buy some more hens, she could earn all the money they needed to have.

"Why, Rob," she said, "you see I had more than two dollars to-day; and the basket wasn't a bit heavy: I could have carried twice as much. If I could make four dollars each day, don't you see how soon it would be hundreds of dollars? hundreds, Rob!"

"Yes," said Rob; "and I could make as much more by the trout: and there would be hundreds and hundreds. And strawberries, Nell! Strawberries! why couldn't we sell strawberries? Old Mr. Pine said we could have all we could pick."

"I thought of that," replied Nelly; "but we haven't any horses now to carry us over there. You know we always went in the wagon."

"Pooh!" said Rob, "we could go just as well in the ox-cart."

"But wouldn't it take all day to get there?" said the wise Nelly: "to get there and back?"

"Oh," said Rob, "I never thought of that. Perhaps Mr. Scholfield would lend us his horses some day."

"I don't believe papa would—like—to—borrow," said Nelly, drowsily; and in a second more she was sound asleep.

Mr. and Mrs. March, also, were building some air castles, resting on the same foundations as Rob's and Nelly's. Nelly's happy and animated face when she returned, and her enthusiastic account of her day's work, had surprised both her father and mother.

"I thought she would be so tired out she would never want to go again," said Mrs. March; "but she is full of the idea of going twice a week, all the time."

"The exercise is not bad for her," replied Mr. March, hesitatingly: "I have no fears about that. And I suppose it is a false pride which makes me shrink so from letting her carry about things to sell. We are very poor, and we do need the money; and the child's impulse to help us is a true and noble one; but I can't be wholly reconciled to the idea yet. If we do permit it, I shall keep an exact account of every penny the dear child brings into this house; and, if we are ever in comfortable circumstances again, I shall pay it all back to her with interest. I have made up my mind to that."

"It will be a nice fund to pay for her having a year or two at some good school, when she is older," said Mrs. March, cheerfully; "and I do not feel as you do about her selling things. I think it will never do her the least harm in any way. Some of the best and noblest people in the world have gone through just such struggles in their youth. I see no disgrace in it: not the least; and I have perfect faith in Nelly's good behavior under all circumstances."

"Yes," said Mr. March, "she can be trusted anywhere. I only wish Rob had half her steadiness of head."

"Rob will come out all right," said Mrs. March: "you don't do justice to him. His heart is in the right place."

Mr. March laughed.

"You never will hear a word against Rob," said he.

"Nor you against Nelly," replied Mrs. March. "Now I think Nelly's obstinacy is quite as serious a fault as Rob's hasty impulsiveness."

"Nelly's obstinacy!" exclaimed Mr March: "what do you mean? I never saw a trace of it."

"No: you never would," said Mrs. March, "because you never have occasion to deal with her in little matters. To me she is always obedient; but with Rob she is as unyielding as a rock in the most trifling matters. When they were little it was quite different,—while he was ill so much, you know; then she used to give up to him so much I thought it would spoil him. But now she literally rules the boy; and I can't help it. Why, the other day they had a really serious quarrel as to where their hair-brushes should be kept. I don't know what made Rob stand out so: usually he gives up. I did not interfere, because I wish them to settle all such matters themselves; but I heard Nelly say:—

"'Rob March! you can move those hair-brushes just as often as you please: it won't make the least difference. I shall move them right back again into this drawer, if it's every day of your life till you're fifty years old!'

"'I sha'n't live with you when I'm fifty,' said Rob: 'so you'll have to leave off before then. And I won't have the hair-brush box in the drawer. It doesn't look bad on the top of the bureau; and I want it where I can get at it easy.'

"'I'll take it out for you,' said Nelly, 'as often as you want it, if you're too lazy; but it's going to be in the drawer.'"

Mr. March laughed heartily.

"Well, wasn't Nelly right?" he said. "If I recollect right, the box is a shabby old box, much better out of sight."

"Oh! of course you'd take Nelly's part," said Mrs. March, half playfully, half in earnest.

"Well, which won?" said Mr. March.

"Oh, Nelly, of course. She always does," replied Mrs. March.

"I'm glad of it," laughed Mr. March. And there the conversation dropped.

The next day Nelly followed her father out to the barn after breakfast.

"Papa," said she, "I want to ask you something."

"What is it, little daughter?" he replied.

"If I could get four dollars each time I went to Rosita, and should go twice every week, how much would that be in a year?" said Nelly.

"Four hundred dollars, my child," replied Mr. March.

"Is not that a good deal of money?" said Nelly: "wouldn't it buy almost all we want?"

"It would buy enough food for us to eat, dear," said Mr. March: "not much more than that."

"Well, Rob could get a good deal for trout too," said Nelly, resolutely: "he's going to fish, next week: and they're forty cents for one pound; and I'm going to take Rob up with me, the next time, and show him how to sell things. It is very easy."

"Do you like it, Nell,—really like it?" said her father.

"Oh, yes!" replied Nelly; "it's splendid! It's the nicest thing I ever did. I like to see the people, and to count the money; and then it is so nice to help too, papa! Oh! you will let us help: won't you?"

"Yes, my child, we will let you help us this summer, because we are really very poor just now; but I hope next year we will not be in such straits. You and Rob are dear, good children to want to work. Papa will never forget it."

Nelly put her hand in her father's, and walked along in silence by his side for a few minutes. Then suddenly catching sight of Rob in the field, she exclaimed:—

"Oh! there's Rob going down to the creek now to fish. I will go and tell him it is all settled. I can help him fish. I shall put the grasshoppers on the hook: I hate it, and I said I'd never do it again; but now that it's for the money, I shall." And she ran off as fast as she could, to join Rob.

All that morning Rob fished and Nelly stuck grasshoppers on the hook for him. At noon, they were miles away from the house: they had followed up the creek without noticing how far they were going.

"Oh, dear!" said Rob, looking up at the sun, "look at that old sun: he's just galloped all this morning. I think his horses are running away. Did papa show you that picture of him in the 'Mythology'? It was a splendid man, in a chariot, standing up, and driving four horses. They thought the sun was really a man. Say, Nell, let's don't go home yet."

"I'm so hungry!" said Nelly, whose share of the amusement was not so exciting as Rob's.

"Pshaw!" said Rob: "I wonder what's the reason girls get hungry so much sooner than boys."

"They don't," said Nelly, doggedly: "they've got stomachs just alike. You're as hungry as you can be; only you won't say so. I know you are."

Rob did not deny it; in fact, as soon as Nelly had said the word "hungry," he had begun to feel a dreadful gnawing in the region of his stomach.

"I'll tell you, Nell," he exclaimed: "we'll cook a trout on a hot stone. I know how. Billy did it one day last summer. You just get a lot of dried sticks and things, and pile them up; and I'll find a flat stone."

In a few minutes, they had a big fire, and a large flat stone standing up in the hottest part of the blaze.

"There!" said Rob, rubbing his hands: "now you'll see a dinner fit for a king. We'll have a trout apiece."

"Good big ones!" said Nelly. "How do you tell when the stone is hot enough?"

"Oh! if it burns a stick to hold it on it, it's too hot, and you let it cool a while," replied Rob, with a patronizing tone; as much as to say, "Girls did not know much about cooking on hot stones."

Girls knew more about getting hot stones out of fires, however, than boys did, in this instance. Poor Rob burnt his fingers badly, trying to pull the stone out by taking hold of it with a handful of thick green leaves.

"Oh, Rob! Rob!" screamed Nelly: "you'll burn you!"

But it was too late. Rob had grasped the stone with all his usual impetuosity, and the leaves had shrivelled up instantly, like cobwebs, the stone was so hot. He let it fall back into the fire, and danced about, shaking his burnt fingers, and screwing up his face very hard, to keep from crying.

"Oh, that was too bad, Rob!" cried Nelly. "Why didn't you let me get it out?"

"You get it out!" cried Rob, quite angry; "you get it out! I'd like to see you! That's the way Billy took his out. There isn't any other way."

Nelly had run off a few steps for a big stick. Presently she came back; and, without saying a word to Rob, put the end of the stick under the stone, and lifted it up and rolled it over and over, till she had it entirely out of the ashes and hot brands, and on a smooth, clean place in the grass. Then she took a little twig, and held it close to the stone, to see if it were still hot. The twig smoked.

"Oh! it's lots too hot," said Rob, meekly. "What made you think of that way of getting it out, Nell?"

"I don't know," said Nelly: "your burning your fingers, I guess."

Then they cut open two nice trout, and Rob scraped them clean with his knife; and, as soon as the stone was cool enough, they laid them on the hot stone. Oh, how good they smelled as soon as they began to cook, and the fat began to ooze out! When the under side was nice and brown, Rob turned them over with two sticks carefully; and, in a few minutes more, they were done. Then he stuck a pointed stick through the biggest one, and handed it very politely to Nelly, saying:—

"Won't you be helped to some fish, Miss Nelly March?"

Nelly held out two pointed sticks to take it; and then she ran round and round with it, for a minute, to cool it; and then she took it by the tail and ate it up in less time than it has taken to write this page. Rob ate his more slowly.

"Oh, I wish we had cooked four," said Nelly.

Rob looked at his basket. It was not much more than half full.

"I can't fish any more," he said: "my fingers hurt so. Don't let's eat up any more. We can have a good supper when we get home. Let's keep all these to sell."

"Of course we will, Rob," said Nelly, quite ashamed: "I was a pig."

"Pigs don't eat trout, I guess," said Rob laughing.

"No," said Nelly; "but they always want more. I was a real pig. Now let's hurry home. I'm afraid we're a long way off."

"Well, they know we're fishing," said Rob: "they won't worry. It's good mamma's got over worrying about my falling into the creek."

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