“No, nothing. As father says, it has all been like slow ruin coming on; but I like the dear old place all the same, because we helped to make it out of the wilderness into a great garden. Oh, Chris, I wish we weren’t going.”
“So do I, but it’s of no use to go on wishing. We should have felt much more miserable when we were starting to go back to England, not knowing what we were going to do. We should have had to go, and this is going to be like a great roving holiday, seeing something fresh and new every day.”
“So it will be. There, I begin to feel better now. I say, look at the sun rising—isn’t it glorious!”
“Always is,” said Chris cheerily. “How different it makes things look! I always feel better when the sun shines. There, good-bye, old place, if we never see you again.”
“But I say, Chris, we might come back some day, you know.”
“Not likely.”
“Why? We might find the gold, and then come back here to live. It wouldn’t matter then about the peaches and grapes and things failing.”
“No; father wouldn’t want the money then,” said Chris thoughtfully. “I should like to come back, after all, but—”
Bing!—Bing!—Bang!
“That’s done it, sir,” cried Griggs, his voice ringing out cheerily in the morning air. “I’ll tuck the hammer and nails in my pouch. They may come in useful. No, I can’t; it’s full. I’ll tuck the hammer handle through my belt. Either of you youngsters got room for a few nails in your pocket?”