“The miners swept up the gold, but they didn’t clean out the cracks”—Mrs. Davidson looked mischievously toward Mr. Rowe. “I’ve read that men are not very fond of cleaning out cracks.”
“What little gnomes we were,” said Captain Bradstreet. “I can seem to see ourselves now, Almeda, armed with case-knives, and creeping through those damp sluices. Their sides must have been nearly as high as our heads.”
“I imagine I was on my hands and knees most of the time peeping for the gold.”
“You could see it more quickly than I could, Almeda; but when it came to scraping it out of the corners, I think I could beat you.”
“Don’t forget the watch, Auntie David,” prompted Pauline.
“No, dearie. Are you afraid it will run down if I linger so? Where was I?”
“Grandfather found the mustard-box, you know, auntie.”
“Thank you, Pauline. Yes; your grandfather came across our treasure one day when he was hunting for mustard to make a paste for your grandmother.”
“Our mother was sick that spring,” explained Captain Bradstreet; “and as a nurse couldn’t be obtained for love or money, father took care of mother himself, and did the cooking for all of us. We children had enough to eat and to wear, but we had very little training.”
“We were as wild as two young quails, Alec, I’ve”—