Part 1 (2/2)
”Oh, I'm not so tired. I slept well, and I wanted to be up early and get Fred's breakfast, for he has quite a journey ahead of him.”
”I wish he didn't have to take it,” murmured Mr. Stanley to his wife when Fred was out of the room. ”If I only could get back to work myself.”
”Now, Norman, I thought you promised me you wouldn't worry.”
”I'm not, but----”
”Yes, you are. Now please don't do it any more. We are getting on very nicely, and I think Mrs. Robinson will pay me well for the sewing I did for her last night. She is very much pleased with my work.”
”I wish you didn't have to work.”
”Oh, my! I don't! What a queer world it would be if no one had to work.
I just love to be busy,” and she laughed joyously, though, to tell the truth, she was still weary from her toil of the night before. Fred heard his mother's voice and looked in from the kitchen.
”Breakfast will soon be ready, Mrs. Stanley,” he said in imitation of a servant girl they had had when they were in better circ.u.mstances. ”The water is jest comin' on to a bile, ma'am, an' the eggs am almost done, ma'am.”
”That's just what Sarah used to say,” remarked Mrs. Stanley. ”It sounds quite natural. Now, Fred, you come in and sit down and I'll finish getting the meal.”
”No, indeed, mother, let me do it. Pretend you are a visitor, and I'll bring the eggs and toast in, piping hot for you.”
”No, Fred. I'll do it.”
The boy was so much in earnest that his mother gave in, and with a laugh seated herself by her husband's side, while Fred rattled away among the dishes out in the kitchen as if he was a regular Chinese cook, which many families in California keep in preference to a woman.
”Do you feel any better this morning, Norman?” asked Mrs. Stanley.
”Not much. Perhaps a little. It is very slow.”
In spite of herself tears came into the eyes of Mrs. Stanley at her husband's misfortune, but she turned her head away so he would not see them.
”Here we are!” cried Fred suddenly, as he came in with a platter of bacon and eggs in one hand, and some nicely browned toast, on a plate, in the other.
”Grub call!” he added, in imitation of the camp cry.
”Well, you did get up a nice breakfast,” complimented his mother.
”I'll bring the coffee in a minute,” added the boy as he went back to the kitchen. ”You dish out, mother.”
The little family gathered around the table, and soon Mr. Stanley had temporarily forgotten about the pain in his leg, while he told Fred something of how to drive an ore cart.
”Perhaps I'll not get a chance at one, dad.”
”Oh, yes, you will. If you see any old miners there, at the new diggings, just mention my name, and they'll help you. They all know me, for I've prospected with a number of them, and grub-staked lots of 'em.
Yes, and some of them have grub-staked me.”
Grub-staked, it may be explained, means that a man with money provides a poor miner with food or ”grub” and an outfit to hunt and dig for gold.
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