“No, I cannot.”
“Can’t? I should like to know why you can’t?” demanded John Benton, indignantly, though Mrs. Trent protested against his urgency by a nod of her head.
“It is for the little one. It is mine. I want it already.”
The ranch mistress at once extended the basket, but it was now the carpenter’s turn to object.
“Please, ‘admiral,’ not so fast. Let her tell us, first, how much money she lost.”
Elsa caught her breath. To save her life she could not have stated in exact figures the sum, because, though she had known to a dime before the robbery, at, and after that time, she had recklessly tossed aside the little that remained. This wasted portion belonged with the whole amount, and being as truthful as she was penurious, she hesitated. Her color came and went, as she looked anxiously into John’s face, realizing that he had laid a trap for her and caught her in it.
But the mistress confronted her, saying:
“Never mind that, Elsa. I do not blame you for refusing to try experiments with what you have so hardly earned and so nearly lost. These are certainly your own little money bags, as I judge from their knitted covers; but it is just possible there may have been other money added to that was taken from you. So, tell me as nearly as you can, what you had, and we will examine them all together.”
This was wise, and commended itself even to the eager Elsa, who stated promptly and proudly: