"If you'll let me take the note I'll see what can be done to get the money," Samson answered.
"Say, I'll tell ye," Brimstead went on. "It's for five thousand dollars and I don't suppose it's worth the paper it was wrote on. You take it and if you find it's no good you lose it just as careful as you can. I don't want to see it again. Come into the house. The woman is making a johnny-cake and fryin' some sausage."
They had a happy half-hour at the table, Mrs. Brimstead being in better spirits since her husband had got back to his farming. Annabel, her form filling with the grace and charm of womanhood, was there and more comely than ever.
They had been speaking of Jack Kelso's death.
"I heard him say once that when he saw a beautiful young face it reminded him of noble singing and the odor of growing corn," said Samson.
"I'd rather see the face," Joe remarked, whereupon they all laughed and the boy blushed to the roots of his blond hair.
"He's become a man of good judgment," said Brimstead.
Annabel's sister Jane who had clung to the wagon in No Santa Claus Land was a bright-eyed, merry-hearted girl of twelve. The boy Robert was a shy, good-looking lad a little younger than Josiah.
"Well, what's the news?" Samson asked.
"Nothin' has happened since we saw you but the fall of El Dorado," Brimstead answered.