“Oh, they were all his ‘experiments.’ You see he wanted to do good to some sorts of people that nobody else seemed much interested in. Men that were getting old and were not rich or well. He was born in California, and he always thought it the land where everybody could find a place if he only had a chance. He went to New York and lived a long time, and he and mother were married there. He’d once ridden over this valley, on a horseback trip–just like yours, maybe–and after that he always meant to buy it if he could. So, when he began to lose his own health he came right away. He hadn’t much money himself, but he worked and mother helped, and he’d paid for it all before he died. It was the title deed which proved it, that he had just brought home and I could not find last night. Though, of course, I shall find it yet,” she added confidently.
“I hope so, my child. I devotedly hope so. Yet if it was duly recorded the matter should easily be set right.”
Jessica’s face fell.
“I don’t believe it was. He said something about that, I didn’t understand it quite, but I know he said ‘recorded’ and that he meant to have it done the next time he went to Los Angeles. But–he didn’t ever go.”
The lawyer’s face grew still more serious. Something of the love with which she inspired everybody was already in his heart for this little maid, and thoughts of his own young daughters, threatened with the misfortune which menaced her, stirred him to fresh regret for the mission he had undertaken.
They had now turned their horses’ heads toward the foothills on the north and he asked:
“What are these ‘mines’ of which you speak?”
“For coal. It was an old man from Pennsylvania first thought there might be such stuff in the mountains near, and it’s worth so much here. Father had found him in one of the towns, with his wife and sick son. They’d spent all they had, to come West to try to cure the son, and were very poor. So, of course, father brought them to Sobrante, and the boy got better at once. They didn’t understand any sort of work except mining, and old Wolfgang couldn’t rest without trying to do something back for father. So he and Otto dug and picked around till they found a ‘vein’ and then they put up a little cabin near and there they live. Their name is Winkler, and Elsa, the mother, is the quaintest little Dutchwoman. Of course, there’s never been money enough to work the mine right. All they can do is to get out enough coal for us to use. That’s why we always have such lovely grate fires in the winter time, that make the house so cosy. You’ll like the Winklers, and you’ll like Elsa’s coffee. Go there what time of day you will she always makes you drink some, sweetened with the wild honey she gets in the hills and with her goat’s milk in it.”
Mr. Hale made a wry face.
“Oh! you’re sure to like it. It is delicious, drank with a slice of her hard, sweetened bread. And their little cabin is as clean as can be. Elsa is a great knitter. She has knitted covers for everything, her beds, chairs, table, everything. All the furniture is made out of wood they found in the hills, and when they’re not mining Otto carves it beautifully.”