“Nor a queerer, as I’ve gathered from your own talk. I never saw Margaret Dalrymple, and I never want to. Anyhow, nothin’ can be done at present; but I’ve brought one comfortin’ word across from the quarters with me, Gabriella.”
“What’s that, Aunt Sally? Is Antonio better?”
“Oh! bother Antonio. He’ll get well, of course. That kind always does. Of that I never had a misdoubt. The word is this, and I begin to think that old Fra Sebastian may be a real Christian, after all. He not only offers, but he says it must be this way: As soon as ‘top-lofty’ can be safely moved, he wants him to the sannytarium to his mission. Him and Ferd, the dwarf, likewise. He says them old Californys all belong to him, and he will look after them. Antonio is to be in the sanny-house, and Ferd is to be put into the mission school. Though he’s a man in years, he’s a child in learning––’cept evil. So Fra proposes to oust the evil if he can––I wager he’ll find he’s got a job––and put in good. He’ll make Antonio earn his keep a-writin’ up the books and accounts, for, with all his silliness, he’s a master hand at figurin’––for himself. So that settles them, and don’t you dast say no to the arrangement when it’s perposed to you, Gabriella Trent, or I’ll never let you hear the last of it. It’s the Lord’s own way of disposing things, and a better one than I could cipher out, if I do say it.”
Certainly Mrs. Trent had no objection to make to so comfortable a settlement of a perplexing question; and in due time the Bernals left Sobrante forever; and of their lives at the mission those whom they had known so long were henceforth to hear little, “and care less,” according to the satisfied ranchmen.
Mr. Cornell, the expert, came, inspected, reserved his opinion, and departed; but Ninian Sharp had gathered enough from the visitor’s few sentences, idly dropped, to feel quite convinced that the thing was worth carrying farther. So he, too, left Sobrante; but, after a brief sojourn in Los Angeles, reappeared, in company with Morris Hale and a trio of prospectors, representing much capital. All 216 this was very exciting to the simple household; and Mrs. Trent, at least, felt infinite relief when, on the eve of Navidad, there were left in it only those two strangers, who had now become less strangers than familiar friends.
Gathered about the fireside, which the first of the rainy nights made doubly enticing, the New York lawyer discussed at length the decision which the prospectors had made. They considered the mine well worth working. “In fact, I have reason to believe it will turn out one of the richest in the whole country. They are willing to advance all money needed upon certain conditions,” and he named them.
These seemed extremely liberal and just to both sides, but Mrs. Trent did not greatly surprise her listeners when she quietly interposed a clause to the effect that:
“My husband believed in profit-sharing. It was his ambition to put Sobrante and its various interests into such an operation. I want all our ‘boys’ to enjoy the benefits of that which God has given us. They will contribute their labor and share in its results; share richly if I can have my will.”
“Your will is doubtless law, madam,” answered Mr. Hale, courteously.