“Not when you are about,” mumbled Stacy.
And so the merriment went on.
At the close of the dinner Hamilton White made his mine report. The mother lode of “Lost Mine” had just recently been tapped when work was suspended for the winter, to be resumed in the early spring, he said. The mining engineer in charge of the work was authority for the statement that it would undoubtedly pan out a big fortune. White said he had the expert’s detailed report which they could look over at their leisure.
“So J. Elfreda is a rich woman, eh?” said Stacy, regarding her solemnly.
“Yes, rich in the sense that I have such friends as these,” answered Elfreda, her eyes moist as she glanced at the eager, flushed faces about her. “Gold is not riches—friendship is. As for the riches of the ‘Lost Mine’ I have with me a transfer of title to the property, signed, sealed and delivered, providing as follows:
“One eighth to the new baby.
“One eighth to my adopted daughter ‘Little Silver.’
“One eighth to Yvonne.
“One eighth each to Grace, Nora and Emma.
“And—” Elfreda paused, and in a subdued voice added, “one eighth each for myself and for my husband to be.” A flush slowly grew into her cheeks as J. Elfreda Briggs bent her eyes on the paper from which she was reading.