Devils Ford | Page 8

curiosity.
"I ought to tell you that the young men confided to me the fact that
there was neither bed nor mattress to be had on the Ford. They have
filled some flour sacks with clean dry moss from the woods, and put
half a dozen blankets on the top, and they hope you can get along until
the messenger who starts to-night for La Grange can bring some
bedding over."
Jessie flew with mischievous delight to satisfy herself of the truth of
this marvel. "It's so, Christie," she said laughingly-- "three flour-sacks
apiece; but I'm jealous: yours are all marked 'superfine,' and mine
'middlings.'"
Mr. Carr had remained uneasily watching Christie's shadowed face.

"What matters?" she said drily. "The accommodation is all in keeping."
"It will be better in a day or two," he continued, casting a longing look
towards the door--the first refuge of masculine weakness in an
impending domestic emergency. "I'll go and see what can be done," he
said feebly, with a sidelong impulse towards the opening and freedom.
"I've got to see Fairfax again to-night any way."
"One moment, father," said Christie, wearily. "Did you know anything
of this place and these--these people--before you came?"
"Certainly--of course I did," he returned, with the sudden testiness of
disturbed abstraction. "What are you thinking of? I knew the geological
strata and the--the report of Fairfax and his partners before I consented
to take charge of the works. And I can tell you that there is a fortune
here. I intend to make my own terms, and share in it."
"And not take a salary or some sum of money down?" said Christie,
slowly removing her bonnet in the same resigned way.
"I am not a hired man, or a workman, Christie," said her father sharply.
"You ought not to oblige me to remind you of that."
"But the hired men--the superintendent and his workmen--were the
only ones who ever got anything out of your last experience with
Colonel Waters at La Grange, and--and we at least lived among
civilized people there."
"These young men are not common people, Christie; even if they have
forgotten the restraints of speech and manners, they're gentlemen."
"Who are willing to live like--like negroes."
"You can make them what you please."
Christie raised her eyes. There was a certain cynical ring in her father's
voice that was unlike his usual hesitating abstraction. It both puzzled
and pained her.

"I mean," he said hastily, "that you have the same opportunity to direct
the lives of these young men into more regular, disciplined channels
that I have to regulate and correct their foolish waste of industry and
material here. It would at least beguile the time for you."
Fortunately for Mr. Carr's escape and Christie's uneasiness, Jessie, who
had been examining the details of the living-room, broke in upon this
conversation.
"I'm sure it will be as good as a perpetual picnic. George Kearney says
we can have a cooking-stove under the tree outside at the back, and as
there will be no rain for three months we can do the cooking there, and
that will give us more room for--for the piano when it comes; and
there's an old squaw to do the cleaning and washing-up any
day--and--and--it will be real fun."
She stopped breathlessly, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes--a
charming picture of youth and trustfulness. Mr. Carr had seized the
opportunity to escape.
"Really, now, Christie," said Jessie confidentially, when they were
alone, and Christie had begun to unpack her trunk, and to mechanically
put her things away, "they're not so bad."
"Who?" asked Christie.
"Why, the Kearneys, and Mattinglys, and Fairfax, and the lot, provided
you don't look at their clothes. And think of it! they told me--for they
tell one EVERYTHING in the most alarming way-- that those clothes
were bought to please US. A scramble of things bought at La Grange,
without reference to size or style. And to hear these creatures talk, why,
you'd think they were Astors or Rothschilds. Think of that little one
with the curls--I don't believe he is over seventeen, for all his baby
moustache--says he's going to build an assembly hall for us to give a
dance in next month; and apologizes the next breath to tell us that there
isn't any milk to be had nearer than La Grange, and we must do without
it, and use syrup in our tea to-morrow."

"And where is all this wealth?" said Christie, forcing herself to smile at
her sister's animation.
"Under our very feet, my child, and all along the river. Why, what we
thought was pure and simple mud is what they call 'gold-bearing
cement.'"
"I suppose that is why they don't brush their boots and trousers, it's so
precious," returned Christie drily. "And have