Part 1 (2/2)

”He--he's just worried about us, an' it's nice of him, Bill, him knowin'

us all these years. He--he thinks as we might move into--into one o'

them little cabins down the trail an'--”

”Lem Townsend's all right,” Bill cut in, lazily, ”but we ain't goin' to move, mother. An' it ain't n.o.body's business, neither--not even Lem Townsend's. I hope you told him that.”

”Why, Bill!” Mrs. Jones exclaimed, sharply. ”I told him no such thing!

An' I ain't so sure but what I ain't goin' to take his advice!”

Bill looked at her, a hidden smile in his eyes. ”It's your property, mother,” he said, quietly.

Tears sprang into the woman's eyes and she made an impulsive gesture.

”You mustn't think that way, Bill!” she cried. ”I know you deeded the whole place over to me when we were married--and it was all you had! I wasn't thinkin' o' that--'ceptin' as I always think. You must say _our_ place, Bill. It's yours an' mine an' Millie's. We'll stick together.

But we got to do _somethin'_.”

Bill glanced slyly at the girl, whose brown head was bowed thoughtfully.

”What you think, Millie?” he asked.

”I don't know what to say,” she replied, slowly. ”I could go back to San Francisco and work as I did last year. But maybe we could pull through this winter--if only we could get boarders. I don't mind the work, and--and I'd rather stay home here.”

Bill's eyes suddenly twinkled. ”What's the matter?” he chuckled. ”John Marvin come back from the city to stay at his cabin?”

Millie blushed. ”Daddy!” she pouted.

Mrs. Jones did not seem any too pleased at her husband's remark. ”John Marvin 'ain't got nothin' to do with it!” she exclaimed. ”I don't see what he comes foolin' around here for, anyway--Millie 'ain't got _him_ on her mind!”

”I should say not!” Millie echoed, though it occurred to Bill that the softness of her brown eyes belied the petulant toss of her head.

”Perhaps, after all, it would be best for me to go back to Mr. Thomas's office!”

Bill turned his half-shut eyes on her quickly, but Millie did not note the expression of genuine concern in them. He sat lost in thought. The last winter had been the most difficult of all for them. Millie, feeling that it was time for her being some help, had studied typewriting and stenography and had obtained a position in the office of Raymond Thomas, a San Francisco lawyer. Presumably on a vacation, Thomas had chanced to spend a week at the Jones place the previous summer. Millie had told him of her design to help the family, and Thomas had suggested that she take the position open in his office.

But that had been a dreary and lonely winter for Bill and his wife.

Millie's pretty face and youthful ways had been missed sorely; the girl had come to be all in all to the old couple, and they could not bear to see her go away again for another long winter.

Then, too, Bill had his own reasons for feeling grave and down in the mouth when Millie suggested her returning to work in the office of Raymond Thomas. Bill Jones was not one to a.n.a.lyze, or to voice or explain his thoughts--even to himself--unless he took a notion to, or considered that the right moment had arrived; it was all too much trouble, anyway. Certain thoughts were running through his mind now, however; running a little at random, to be sure, but they were there.

His young friend, John Marvin, had worked in Thomas's office for a time--was working there when Millie entered the office. Indeed, that was how Marvin had met Millie and found, to his delight, that they were neighbors up in Nevada--that she was the pretty daughter his friend Bill Jones was always mentioning.

But Bill was thinking now especially of the fact that Marvin had left Raymond Thomas's office suddenly, and had told Bill precisely why he had left.

”Don't _you_ think it would be best for me to go back, daddy?” Millie questioned, interrupting his random musings. ”Maybe mother could manage here, with one or two boarders and the money I shall send her. And there will be your army pension. Mr. Thomas is coming to pay us a visit to-morrow, you know, and I'll ask him at once for my old position. I know it will be all right, for he's always been perfectly splendid! He told me the position would always be open to me. You have no idea how kind and considerate he is, daddy! Then maybe next summer--”

”Next summer we're all goin' to be rich!” said her odd foster-father, unexpectedly. ”Yes, sir, meanin' you an' mother, Millie girl, next summer we're goin' to be awful rich. Leastways, you an' mother is. Bein'

rich wouldn't mean nothin' to me--I'm above it!”

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