"THE GOOD LUCK"
Billy went to work the very next day at "The Good Luck." First, he
put up a little hut, which looked more like an Indian wigwam than
any thing else. This was for him and Mr. Scholfield to sleep in.
"We can't take time to go home nights till we get this thing
started," said Billy. "If we've got ore here, the sooner we get some
on't out the better; an' if we hain't got ore here, the sooner we
find that out the better."
All day long, day after day, Billy and Mr. Scholfield dug, till they
had a big hole, as deep as a well, dug in the ground. Then they put
a windlass at the top, with a long rope fastened to it, and a bucket
on the end of the rope. This bucket they lowered down into the hole,
just as you lower a water-bucket down into a well; then they filled
it full of the stones which they thought had silver in them, and
then turned the windlass and drew it up.
Mr. Scholfield pounded some of these stones very fine, and melted
them with his blow-pipe, and got quite big buttons of silver out of
them. He gave some of these to Mr. March. When he showed these to
Nelly, she exclaimed:---
"Oh! these are a great deal bigger than any I saw in Mr. Kleesman's
office. Our mine must be a good one."
Mr. Scholfield was in great glee. He made the most extravagant
statements, and talked very foolishly about the mine: said he would
not take half a million of dollars for his third of it; and so on,
till old, experienced miners shook their heads and said he was
crazy. But, when they saw the round buttons of shining silver which
he had extracted from the stones, they stopped shaking their heads,
and thought perhaps he was right. The fame of "The Good Luck" spread
all over town; and, as Billy had said there would be, there were
many who persisted in calling the mine "The Nelly." Almost everybody
in Rosita knew Nelly by sight by this time; and it gave the mine
much greater interest in their eyes that it had been found by this
good, industrious little girl, whom everybody liked. Whenever Nelly
went to town now, people asked her about her mine. She always
answered:--
"It isn't my mine: it is my papa's."
"But you found it," they would say.
"I found the black hat it wore on its head," was Nelly's usual
reply: "that is all. Mr. Scholfield and Billy found the silver."
It happened that it was nearly three weeks before Rob and Nelly went
to Mr. Kleesman's house again. They had now a new interest, which
made them hurry through with all they had to do in Rosita, so as to
have time on their way home to stop at "The Good Luck," and watch
Billy and Mr. Scholfield at work. It was an endless delight to them
to see the windlass wind, wind, wind, and watch the heavy bucket of
stone slowly coming up to the mouth of the hole. Then Billy would
let Rob take the bucket and empty it on the pile of shining gray ore
which grew higher and higher every day. Sometimes the children
stayed here so late that it was after dark when they reached home;
and at last Mrs. March told them that they must not go to the mine
every time they went to Rosita: it made their walk too long. She
said they might go only every other time.
"Let's go Tuesdays," said Rob.
"Why?" said Nelly.
"It never seems half so long from Tuesday till Friday as it does
from Friday to Tuesday," said Rob.
"Why, why not?" asked Nelly.
"Oh, I don't know," said Rob. "Sunday's twice as long as any other
day: I guess that's it."
"But you've got the Sunday each week," exclaimed Nelly: "it isn't
any shorter from Tuesday to Tuesday than from Friday to Friday: what
a silly boy! The Sunday comes in all the same. Don't you see?"
Rob looked puzzled.
"I don't care," he said "it seems ever so much shorter."
The first day that they were not to go to the mine, Rob said:--
"See here, Nell: if we can't go to the mine, let's go and see old
Mr. Kleesman. His furnace must be done by this time. Perhaps he'll
be making an assay to-day."
"Oh, good!" said Nelly. "I declare I'd almost forgotten all about
him: hadn't you?"
"No, indeed!" said Rob: "I liked the mine better; but let's go there
to-day."
"And we'll go and eat our lunch at Ulrica's too," said Nelly. "We
haven't taken it there for ever so long: she said so Tuesday. We'll
go to-day."
"So we will," said Rob. "Perhaps she'll have stewed chicken."
"Oh, for shame, Rob!" said Nelly.
"What for?" said Rob: "I don't see any shame. Where's the shame?"
"Shame to think about something to eat when you go to see people,"
replied Nelly.
"Now, Nell March, didn't you think of it, honest Indian?" said Rob.
"Well, it's worse to say it," stammered Nelly. "Perhaps I did think
of it, just a little, little bit; but I always try not to."
"Ha! ha! Miss Nell! I've caught you this time; and I don't think
it's a bit worse to say it: so, there! Stewed chicken! stewed
chicken!" And Rob danced along in front of Nelly, shouting the words
in her very face. Nelly could not help laughing, though she was
angry.
"Rob," she said, "you can be the worst torment I ever saw."
"That's only because you haven't had any other torment but me,"
cried Rob, still dancing along backwards in front of Nelly.
"Hullo! hullo!" said a loud, gruff voice just behind him: "don't run
me down, young man! Which side of the way will you have, or will you
have both?"
Very much confused, Rob turned and found himself nearly in the arms
of an old man with rough clothes on, but with such a nice,
benevolent face that Rob knew he was not going to be angry with him.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I didn't see you."
"Naturally you didn't, since you have no eyes in the back of your
head," said the old man. "Do you always walk backwards, or is it
only when you are teasing your sister?"
Nelly hastened to defend Rob.
"Oh, sir," she said, "he was not really teasing me: he was only in
fun."
The old man smiled and nodded.
"That's right! that's right!" he said.
They had just now reached Mr. Kleesman's steps. Rob sprang up, two
steps at a time.
"What!" said the old man, "are you going in here? So am I." And they
all went in together.
Mr. Kleesman was very glad to see Nelly.
"I haf miss you for many days," he said. "Vy is it you not come more
to see assay?"
"We have been very busy," said Nelly: "and have not stayed in town
any longer than we needed to sell our things."
"I know! I know!" said Mr. Kleesman: "you haf been at the Goot Luck
mine!"
"Why, who told you about it?" exclaimed Rob.
"Ach!" said Mr. Kleesman, "you tink dat mines be to be hid in dis
town? Not von but knows of 'Goot Luck,' dat the little maid-child
haf found;" and he looked at Nelly and smiled affectionately. "And
not von but iss glad," he added, patting her on the head.
Then he turned to the old man who had come in with the children, and
said, politely:--
"Vat can I do for you, sir?"
The man took off his hat and sat down, and pulled out of his pocket
a little bag of stones, and threw it on the table.
"Tell me if that's worth any thing," he said.
Mr. Kleesman took a small stone out of the bag, and called:--
"Franz! Franz!"
Franz was Mr. Kleesman's servant. He tended the fires, and pounded
up the stones fine in an iron mortar, and did all Mr. Kleesman's
errands.
Franz came running; and Mr. Kleesman gave him the stone, and said
something to him in German. Franz took the stone, and disappeared in
the back room.
"After he haf make it fine," said Mr. Kleesman, "I shall assay it
for you." Then, turning to Nelly and Rob, he said:--
"Can you stay? I make three assay now in three cups."
"Yes, indeed, we can!" said Nelly: "thank you! That is what we came
for. We thought the furnace must be mended by this time."
While Franz was pounding the stone, the old man told Mr. Kleesman
about his mine. Nelly listened with attentive ears to all he said:
but Rob was busy studying the pretty little brass scales in the
glass box. The man said that he and two other men had been at work
for some months at this mine. The other two men were sure the ore
was good; one of them had tried it with the blow-pipe, he said, and
got plenty of silver.
"But I just made up my mind," said the man, "that, before I put any
more money in there, I'd come to somebody that knew. I ain't such a
sodhead as to think I can tell so well about things as a man that's
studied 'em all his life; and I asked all about, and they all said,
'Kleesman's the man: he'd give you an honest assay of his own mind
if he could get at it and weigh it.'"
Mr. Kleesman laughed heartily. He was much pleased at this
compliment to his honesty.
"Yes, I tell you all true," he said. "If it be bad, or if it be
good, I tell true."
"That's what I want," said the man.
Then Franz came in with the fine-powdered stone in a paper. Mr.
Kleesman took some of it and weighed it in the little brass scales.
Then he took some fine-powdered lead and weighed that. Then he mixed
the fine lead and the powdered stone together with a knife.
"I take twelve times as much lead as there iss of the stone," he
said.
"What is the lead for?" asked Nelly.
"The lead he will draw out of the stone all that are bad: you will
see."
Then he put the powdered stone and the lead he had mixed together
into a little clay cup, and covered it over with more of the
fine-powdered lead. Then he put in a little borax.
"He helps it to melt," he said.
Then he went through into the back room, carrying this cup and two
others which were standing on the table already filled with powder
ready to be baked.
Rob and Nelly and the old man followed him. He opened the door of
the little oven and looked in: it was glowing red hot. Then he took
up each cup in tongs, and set it in the oven. When all three were
in, he took some burning coals from the fire above, and put them in
the mouth of the oven, in front of the cups.
"Dat iss dat cold air from door do not touch dem," he said. Then he
shut the door tight, and said:--
"Now ve go back. Ve vait fifteen minute."
He held his watch in his hand, so as not to make a mistake. When the
fifteen minutes were over he opened the oven-door to let a current
of cool air blow above the little cups. Nelly stood on a box, as she
had before, and looked in through the queer board with holes in it
for the eyes. The metal in the little cups was bubbling and as red
as fire. Rob tried to look, but the heat hurt his eyes so he could
not bear it.
"Ven de cold air strike the cups," said Mr. Kleesman, "then the slag
are formed."
"Oh, what is slag?" cried Rob.
"All that are bad go into the slag," said Mr. Kleesman.
Then he put on a pair of thick gloves, and a hat on his head, and
went close up to the fiery oven door, and took out the cups, and
emptied them into little hollow places in a sheet of zinc. The
instant the hot metal touched the cool zinc, it spread out into a
fiery red rose.
"Oh, how lovely!" cried Nelly.
"By jingo!" said Rob.
Even while they were speaking, the bright red rose turned
dark,--hardened,--and there lay three shining buttons, flat and
round. Their rims looked like dark glass; and in their centres was a
bright, silvery spot.
Mr. Kleesman took a hammer and pounded off all this dark, shining
rim. Then he pounded the little silvery buttons which were left into
the right shape to fit into some tiny little clay cups he had there.
They were shaped like a flower-pot, but only about an inch high.
"Now these must bake one-half hour again," he said; and put them
into the oven. Pretty soon he opened the oven-door to let the cold
air in again, as he had done before. That would make all the lead go
off, he said: it would melt into the little cups, and leave nothing
but the pure silver behind.
"Now vatch! vatch!" he said to Nelly. "In von minute you shall see a
flash in de cups, like lightning, just one second: it are de last of
de lead driven avay; den all is done."
Nelly watched with all her might. Sure enough, flash! flash! flash!
in all three of the cups it went; the cups were fiery red; as Mr.
Kleesman took them out, they turned yellow; they looked like the
yolk of a hard-boiled egg hollowed out,--and there, in the bottom of
each, lay a tiny, tiny silver button! Mr. Kleesman carried them into
the front room and weighed them. Two of them were heavy enough to
more than weigh down the little button which was always kept in the
left-hand scale. That showed that the ore had silver enough in it to
make it worth while to work it. The third one was so small you could
hardly see it. That was the one which belonged to the old man.
"You ore are not worth not'ing," said Mr. Kleesman to him. Nelly
looked sorrowfully at the old man's face; but he only smiled, and
said:--
"Well, that's just what I've suspicioned all along. I didn't believe
much in all that blow-pipe work. I'm out about a hundred
dollars,--that's all,--not counting my time any thing. It's the
time I grudge more'n the money. Much obliged to ye, sir." And the
philosophical old fellow handed out his three dollars to pay for the
assay, and walked off as composedly as if he had had good news
instead of bad.
Nelly looked very grave. She was thinking of what her father had
said about Mr. Scholfield's blow-pipe.
"Perhaps Mr. Scholfield was all wrong too, just like this other man.
Perhaps our mine isn't good for any thing."
Nelly's face was so long that kind-hearted Mr. Kleesman noticed it,
and said:--
"You haf tired: it are too long that you look at too many t'ings.
You shall sit here and be quiet."
"Oh, no, thank you," said Nelly: "I am not tired. I was only
thinking."
Mr. Kleesman really loved Nelly, and it distressed him to see her
look troubled. He wanted to know what troubled her; but he did not
like to ask. He looked at her very sympathizingly, and did not say
any thing.
"Is not a blow-pipe good for any thing to tell about silver?" said
Nelly, presently.
"Oh, ho!" thought Mr. Kleesman to himself: "now I know what the
little wise maiden is thinking: it is her father's mine. It did not
escape her one word which this man said."
But he replied to her question as if he had not thought any thing
farther.
"Not very much: the blow-pipe cannot tell true. It tell part true;
not all true."
Nelly sighed, and said:--
"Come, Rob: it is time for us to go. We are very much obliged to you
for letting us see the assay. It is the most wonderful thing I ever
saw. It is just like a fairy story. Come, Rob."
Rob also thanked Mr. Kleesman; and they went slowly down the steps.
"Stay! stay!" said Mr. Kleesman. "Little one, vill you not ask your
father that he send me some of the ore from the Goot Luck mine? I
shall assay it for you, and I vill tell you true how much silver
there should come from each ton, that you are not cheated at the
mill vere dey take your ore to make in de silver brick."
Nelly ran back to Mr. Kleesman, and took his hand in hers.
"Oh, thank you! thank you!" she said: "that was what I was thinking
about. I was thinking what if our mine should turn out like that
man's that was here this morning."
"Oh, no: I t'ink not. Every von say it iss goot, very goot," said
Mr. Kleesman. "But I like to make assay. You tell your father I make
it for nothing: I make it for you."
"I will tell him," said Nelly; "and I am sure he will be very glad
to have you do it. I will bring some of the ore next time. Good-by!"
And she and Rob ran off very fast, for it was past Ulrica's
dinner-time.
When they reached the house it was shut up: the curtains down, and
the door locked. Ulrica had gone away for the day, to do washing at
somebody's house; and Jan had taken his dinner to the mill. The
children sat on the doorstep and ate their lunch, much disappointed.
Then they tried to think of some way to let Ulrica know they had
been there.
"If we only had a card such as ladies used to leave for mamma when
she was away," said Rob, "that would be nice."
"I'll tell you," said Nelly: "we'll prick our names on two of the
cottonwood leaves in the top of your hat: they'll do for cards."
Rob always put a few green leaves in the top of his hat, to make his
head cool. It keeps out the heat of the sun wonderfully. One variety
of the cottonwood leaf is a smooth, shining leaf, about as large as
a lilac leaf, and much like it in shape. This was the kind Rob had
in his hat. Nelly picked out the two biggest ones, and then with a
pin she slowly pricked "Nelly" on one and "Rob" on the other.
"There!" she said, when they were done: "aren't those nice cards?
Now I'll pin them on the door, close above the handle, so that
Ulrica can't open the door without seeing them."
"What fun!" said Rob. "I say, Nell, you're a capital hand to think
of things."
Nelly laughed.
"Why, Rob," she said, "sometimes you find fault with me just because
I do 'think of things,' as you call it."
"Oh, those are different things," said Rob. "You know what I mean:
bothers. Such things as these cards are fun."
When Ulrica came home at night from her washing, she was very tired;
and she put her hand on the handle of her door and turned it almost
without looking, and did not at first see the green leaves. But, as
the door swung in, she saw them.
"Ah, den! vat is dat?" she exclaimed. "Dem boys at deir mischiefs
again!" And she was about to tear the leaves down angrily, when she
caught sight of the fine-pricked letters. She looked closer, and
made out the word "Nelly;" then on the other one "Rob."
"Ach! mine child! mine child!" she exclaimed. "She haf been here:
she make that the green leaf say her name to me. Mine blessed
child!" And Ulrica took the leaves and laid them away in a little
yellow carved box, in the shape of a tub, which she had brought from
Sweden. When Jan sat down at his supper, she took them out, and
laid them by his plate, and told him where she found them. Jan was
much pleased, and looked a long time curiously at the pricked
letters. Then he laid the leaves back in the box, and said to
Ulrica:--
"Why do you not make for the child a gown, such as the Swede child
wears, of the blue and the red? Think you not it would please her?"
"Not to wear," said Ulrica. "She would not like that every one
should gaze."
"Oh, no, not to wear for people to see," said Jan; "but to keep
because it is strange and different from the dress of this country.
The rich people that did come travelling to Sweden did all buy
clothes like the Swede clothes, to take home to keep and to show."
"Yes! yes! I will!" exclaimed Ulrica, much delighted at the thought;
"but it shall have no buttons: we cannot find buttons."
"Wilhelm Sachs will make them for me out of tin: that will do very
well, just for a show," said Jan. "It is not for money; but only
that they shine and be round."
So after supper Ulrica took the roll of blue cloth out of the chest,
and began to measure off the breadths.
"How tell you that it is right?" said Jan.
"By my heart," said the loving Ulrica: "I know mine child her size
by my heart. It vill be right."
But for all that it turned out that she cut the breadths too long,
and had to hem a deep hem at the bottom; which wasted some of the
cloth, and vexed Ulrica's economical soul. But we have not come to
that yet. We must go home with Nelly and Rob.
Nelly had made up her mind not to tell her father any thing about
Mr. Kleesman's proposal to make the assay until she could see him
all alone; but she forgot to tell Rob not to speak of it; and they
had hardly taken their seats at the tea-table when Rob exclaimed:--
"Papa! don't you think Mr. Kleesman says a blow-pipe isn't good for
any thing to tell about silver with. And there was a man there
to-day, with ore out of his mine, and it hadn't any silver at all in
it,--not any to speak of,--and he thought it was splendid: he and
two other men; they had tried it with a blow-pipe."
Mr. Scholfield was taking tea with the Marches this night. He
listened with a smile to all Rob said. Then he said:--
"That's just like Kleesman. He thinks nobody but he can tell any
thing. It's the money he's after. I see through him. Now I know I
can make as good an assay with my blow-pipe as he can with all his
little cups and saucers and gimcracks, any day."
Nelly grew very red. She did not like to hear Mr. Kleesman so spoken
of. She opened her mouth to speak: then bit her lips, and remained
quiet.
"What is it, Nelly?" said her father.
"Nothing, sir," replied Nelly: "only I don't think Mr. Kleesman is
like that. He is very kind."
"Oh, yes, he's kind enough," said Mr. Scholfield: "he's a
good-natured fellow. But it's all moonshine about his being the only
one who can make assays. There's a plenty of mines working here
to-day that haven't ever had any assay made except by the blow-pipe.
There's no use in paying a fellow three or four or five dollars for
doing what you can do yourself."
"But that man said--" began Rob.
"Be quiet now, Rob," said Mr. March. "We won't talk any more about
it now."
After Mr. Scholfield had gone away, Mr. March called Nelly out of
the room.
"Come walk up and down in the lane with me, Nell," he said, "and
tell me all about what happened at Mr. Kleesman's."
Then Nelly told her father all about it, from beginning to end.
"Upon my word, Nell," he said, "you seem to have studied the thing
carefully. I should think you could almost make an assay yourself."
"I guess I could if I had the cups and things," said Nelly: "I
recollect every thing he did. But, papa, won't you let him take some
ore from our mine, and let him see if it is good by his way? He
won't ask us any thing: he said he was doing it every day, and he
could put in one more cup as well as not. Oh, do, papa!"
"I'll think about it," said Mr. March.
That night he talked it over with Mrs. March, and she was as anxious
as Nelly that he should let Mr. Kleesman make the assay. This
decided Mr. March; and the next morning he said to Nelly:--
"Well, Nelly, you shall have your way,--you and mamma. I will take
some of the ore to your old friend. I shall go up with you to-morrow
myself, and carry it. I do not like to send it by you."
"Oh, good! good!" cried Nelly, and jumped up and down, and ran away
to find Rob and tell him that their father would walk into town with
them the next day.
When Nelly walked into Mr. Kleesman's room, holding her father by
the hand, she felt very proud. She had always thought her father
handsomer and nicer to look at than any other man in the world; and,
when she said to Mr. Kleesman, "Here is my father, sir," this pride
was so evident in her face that it made Mr. Kleesman laugh. It did
not make him love Nelly any less, however. It only made him think
sadly of the little girl way off in Germany, who would have just as
much pride in his face as Nelly did in her father's. Mr. Kleesman's
love for Nelly made him treat Mr. March like an old friend.
"I am glad to see you here," he said. "I haf for your little girl
von great friendship: she iss so goot. I say often to myself, she
haf goot father, goot mother. She iss not like American childs I haf
seen."
Mr. March was glad to have Nelly liked; but he did not wish to have
her praised in this open way. So he said, very quickly:--
"Yes, Nelly is a good girl. I have come to talk to you, Mr.
Kleesman, about our mine: perhaps you have heard of it,--'The Good
Luck.'"
"Yes: I hear it is goot mine, very goot," replied Mr. Kleesman. "I
ask the child to bring me ore. I assay it for you. It vill be
pleasure to me."
"That is what I was going to ask you to do," said Mr. March. "I
would like to know the exact truth about it before I go any farther.
Scholfield is pressing me to put in machinery; but I do not like to
spend money on it till I am sure."
"Dat iss right," said Mr. Kleesman. "Vait! vait! It is always safe
to vait. Haf you brought with you the ore?"
"Yes, I have it here," replied Mr. March, and took a small bag of it
from his pocket. Mr. Kleesman examined it very carefully. His face
did not look cheerful. He took piece after piece out of the bag,
and, after examining them, tossed them on the table with a
dissatisfied air.
"Is it all as dis?" he said.
"Yes, about like that," replied Mr. March.
Nelly watched Mr. Kleesman's face breathlessly.
"I know he don't think it is good," she whispered to Rob.
"I cannot tell till I make assay," said Mr. Kleesman. "But I t'ink
it not so very good. To-morrow I vill know. To-day I cannot do. I
send you vord."
"Oh, no, you need not take that trouble," said Mr. March. "The
children will be in day after to-morrow. They can call."
"No, I send you vord," repeated Mr. Kleesman. "I send you vord. Dere
are plenty vays. I send you vord to-morrow night. Alvays men go past
my door down to valley. I send you vord."
"What do you suppose is the reason he did not want us to call for
it?" said Rob, as they walked down street.
"I know," said Nelly.
"What?" said Rob, sulkily. His pride was a little touched at Mr.
Kleesman's having so evidently preferred to send the message by some
one else rather than by them.
"Because," said Nelly, "he is so kind he doesn't want to tell us to
our face the mine isn't good."
"Oh, Nell!" exclaimed Rob, in a tone of distress, "do you think it's
that?"
"I know it's that," said Nelly, calmly. "It couldn't be any thing
else: you'll see. He doesn't believe that ore's good for any thing.
I know by his face he doesn't. I've seen him look so at ore before
now."
"Oh, Nell!" cried Rob, "what'll we do if it turns out not to be good
for any thing?"
"Do!" said Nelly; "why, we shall do just what we did before. But I'm
awful sorry I ever told papa about the old thing. It's too mean!"
"We haven't spent any money on it: that's one good thing," said Rob.
"Yes," said Nelly; "and it's lucky we happened in at Mr. Kleesman's
just when we did: there was some good luck in that, if there isn't
any in the mine."
"But I don't see why you're so sure, Nell," cried Rob: "Mr. Kleesman
said he couldn't tell till he tried it."
"Well, I _am_ sure," said Nelly; "just as sure's any thing. I know
Mr. Kleesman thinks it isn't good for any thing; and if he thinks so
just by looking at the stone, won't he think so a great deal more
when he has burnt all the bad stuff away?"
"Well, anyhow, I shan't give up till he send 'vord,' as he calls
it," said Rob. "I guess it'll be good for a little if it isn't for
much. Everybody says Mr. Scholfield knows all about mines."
"You'll see!" was all Nelly replied; and she trudged along with a
very grave and set look on her face. Mr. March was to stay in town
later, to see some farmers who were coming in from the country: so
the children had a lonely walk home. They stopped only a moment at
Ulrica's and at Lucinda's; and both Ulrica and Lucinda saw that
something was wrong. But Nelly had cautioned Rob to say nothing
about the ore, and she herself said nothing about it; and so the two
faithful hearts that loved them could only wonder what had happened
to cloud the usually bright little faces.
When it drew near to sunset, the time at which the farmers who had
been up into Rosita usually returned into the valley, Rob and Nelly
went down the lane to the gate, to watch for the messenger from Mr.
Kleesman. The sun set, and the twilight deepened into dusk, and no
messenger came. Several farm wagons passed; and, as each one
approached, the children's hearts began to beat quicker, thinking
that the wagon would stop, and the man would hand out a letter; but
wagon after wagon passed,--and no letter. At last Nelly said:--
"It is so dark we really must go in, Rob. I don't believe it's
coming to-night."
"Perhaps his furnace is broken again, and he couldn't do it to-day,"
said Rob.
"Perhaps so," said Nelly, drearily. "Oh, dear! I wish the old mine
was in Guinea. Weren't we happier without it, Rob?"
"Yes, lots!" said Rob; "and we're making a good lot of money off the
butter and eggs and trout. I don't care about the old mine."
"I do!" said Nelly: "if it was a good mine--if it were a good mine,
I mean, because then we could all have every thing we want, and papa
wouldn't have to work. But I know this mine isn't a good one, and I
ain't ever going to look for another 's long as I live. Nor I won't
tell of one, if I find it, either!"
"Pshaw, Nell! don't be a goose," said Rob. "If this one isn't good
for any thing, it don't prove that the next one won't be. I'll find
all I can, and try 'em one after the other."
"Well, you may: I won't!" said Nelly.
Bedtime came: still no letter. All through the evening, the children
were listening so closely for the sound of wheels, that they could
not attend to any thing else. Even Mr. March found it rather hard to
keep his thoughts from wandering down the lane in expectation of the
message from Rosita. But it did not come; and the whole family
finally went to bed with their suspense unrelieved.
The next morning, while they were sitting at breakfast, and not
thinking about the message at all, a man knocked at the door and
handed in a letter. He had brought it from Rosita the night before,
but had forgotten all about it, he said, till he was a mile past the
house; and he thought as he would be going in again early in the
morning, it would do as well to bring it then.
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" said Mr. March: "it was not on any
pressing business. Much obliged to you, sir. Sit down and have some
breakfast with us: won't you?"
The man was an old bachelor,--a Mr. Bangs,--who lived alone on a
farm some six miles north of Mr. March's. He looked longingly at the
nice breakfast, and said to Mrs. March:--
"Well, I had what I called a breakfast before I left home; but your
coffee does smell so tempting, I think I'll take a cup,--since
you're so kind."
Then he drew up a chair and sat down, and began to eat and drink as
if he had just come starved from a shipwreck.
Mr. March laid the letter down by his plate, and went on talking
with Mr. Bangs as politely as if he had nothing else to do.
Rob and Nelly looked at the letter; then at each other; then at
their father and mother: Rob fidgeted on his chair. Finally, Nelly
put down her knife and fork, and said she did not want any more
breakfast. Mrs. March could hardly keep from laughing to see the
children's impatience, though she felt nearly as impatient herself.
At last she said to the children:--
"You may be excused, children. Run out into the barn and see if you
can find any eggs!" Rob and Nelly darted off, only too glad to be
free.
"Did you ever see such a pig!" exclaimed Rob. "He'd had his
breakfast at home. I don't see what made papa ask him!"
"He ate as if he were half starved," said Nelly. "I guess old
bachelors don't cook much that's good. Oh! I do wish he'd hurry."
Mr. Bangs had no idea of hurrying. It was a long time since he had
tasted good home-made bread and butter and coffee, and he knew it
would be a still longer time before he tasted them again. He almost
wished he had two stomachs, like a camel, and could fill them both.
At last, when he really could eat no more, and Mrs. March had poured
for him the last drop out of the coffee-pot, he went away. The
children were watching in the barn to see him go. As soon as he had
passed the barn-door, they scampered back to the house.
Their father had the open letter under his hand, on the table. He
was looking at their mother, and there were tears in her eyes. He
turned to the children, and said, in a voice which he tried hard to
make cheerful:--
"Well, Nelly, are you ready for bad news?"
"Oh, yes!" interrupted Nelly, "indeed I am, all ready. I knew it
would be bad news! I knew it when we were at Mr. Kleesman's."
"Pshaw!" said Rob, and sat down in a chair, and twirled his hat over
and over between his knees: "I don't care! I'm going fishing." And
he jumped up suddenly, and ran out of the room.
Mrs. March laughed in spite of herself.
"That is to hide how badly he feels," she said. "Let's all go
fishing."
Nelly did not laugh. She stood still by the table, leaning on it.
"It's all my fault," she said. "If I hadn't found the mine, we
shouldn't have had all this trouble."
"Why, child, this isn't trouble," exclaimed her father; "don't feel
so. Of course we're all a little disappointed."
"A good deal!" interrupted Mrs. March, smiling.
"Yes, a good deal," he continued; "but we won't be unhappy long
about it. We're no worse off than we were before. And there's one
thing: we are very lucky to have got out of it so soon,--before we
had put any money into it."
"What does Mr. Kleesman say?" asked Nelly.
"He says that there is a little silver in the ore, but not enough to
make it pay to work the mine," replied her father; "and he says that
he is more sorry to say this than he has ever been before in his
life to say that ore was not good. I will read you the letter."
Then Mr. March read the whole letter aloud to Nelly. The last
sentence was a droll one. Mr. Kleesman said:--
"I have for your little girl so great love that I do wish she may
never have more sorrow as this."
"What does he mean, papa?" asked Nelly.
"Why, he means that he hopes this disappointment about the mine will
be the most serious sorrow you will ever know: that nothing worse
will ever happen to you," replied Mr. March.
"Oh," said Nelly, "is that it? I couldn't make it mean any thing.
Well, I hope so too."
"So do I," said Mrs. March.
"And I," said Mr. March. "And if nothing worse ever does happen to
us than to think for a few weeks we have found a fortune, and then
to find that we haven't, we shall be very lucky people."
So they all tried to comfort each other, and to conceal how much
disappointed they really were; but all the time, each one of them
was very unhappy, and knew perfectly well that all the rest were
too. Mr. March was the unhappiest of the four. He had made such fine
plans for the future: how he would send Rob and Nelly to school at
the East; build a pretty new house; have a nice, comfortable
carriage; have Billy and Lucinda come back to live with them; buy
all the books he wanted. Poor Mr. March! it was a very hard thing to
have so many air-castles tumble down all in one minute!
Mrs. March did not mind it so much, because she had never from the
beginning had very firm faith in the mine. And for Rob and Nelly it
was not nearly so hard, for they had not made any definite plans of
what they would like to do; and they were so young that each day
brought them new pleasures in their simple life. Still it was a
great disappointment even to them, and I presume would have made
them seem less cheerful and contented for a long time, if something
had not happened the very next day to divert their minds and give
them plenty to think about.