Dan De Quille has said that the Comstock is the tomb of the forests of the Sierras. This is literally true. Already enough timber had been buried in the Lode to build a city several times as large as San Francisco was. The square-set system of timbering, invented by Philip Deidesheimer, made it possible to develop the mines to a great depth in spite of the tendency of the ground to cave. But this necessitated hauling timber from a distance. The nearer slopes of the range were already denuded. Upon this need the McClintocks built their business. It prospered year by year, for both members of the firm were shrewd and energetic. Vicky had remained at school in Carson when Scot moved to Virginia City. When she reached the age of sixteen Scot sent her to a young lady’s seminary at San Francisco where she could have better advantages. For a year she remained in the city at the Golden Gate. It chanced that Hugh had not seen Vicky since the day when she first set out for school at Carson years ago. Upon the occasions of her visits to Mollie’s house he had been out of town on business. Once he had called at Miss Clapp’s to see her, but Miss Victoria happened to be up King’s Cañon gathering wild flowers. “What’s she look like now?” Hugh asked Scot when he heard the girl was returning from San Francisco. “Must be a right sizable little girl now, I reckon. Last time I was in Sacramento I sent her a nigger toll. Here’s the letter she wrote me. I’d think they’d teach her to spell better.” Scot read the note. Dere Mister Santa Claws, I got the doll. Thank you very much for it. I like dolls. I am lerning speling, reading, riting, gography, numbers, grammar, and deportment. Deportment is when you say thanks to a kind gentelman for giveing you a doll. We had bluebery pie for dinner. Do you like bluebery pie? I do. Wel I must close for this time your greatful little friend Victoria Lowell. The older brother wiped a smile from his face as he looked at Hugh. The note was like the little vixen who had written it. She was having her fun with Hugh, who seemed to have forgotten that in the course of four years children of Vicky’s sex have a habit of shooting up into young ladies. A black doll! Well, Hugh had brought it on himself. Scot did not intend to spoil sport. He told a part of the truth. “She’s a pretty good match for the black doll herself—the blackest little thing you ever saw. Hair flies wild. A good deal of long arms and legs about her. Some whirlwind when she gets started.” “Always was that,” Hugh said. “I can imagine how she looks. Blueberry pie painted on her face when she wrote that letter probably.” He shifted the conversation to business. “Are you going down to Piodie or do you want me to go?”