That was not what he expected to say, but Bill was never much of a hand to express his deeper emotions. * * * * * "Anyway, I can cook for you and Tommy, I hope!" Doris was, as usual, withering in her sarcasm. "If you're _determined_ to grub along like this, all right. I'm game for it. I never liked cooking--much. But I can do it. We can move up to the house----" "Not till we've struck the ore. Call me stubborn if you want to--I can't help it. I found the ore in the first place, and I'll find it again. Without touching a dollar of your money. I can't afford to keep up that big house. This is about my limit." Doris eyed the limited space, chewing her lip meditatively. "It isn't much of a place to bring baby," she said. "She'd have her little hands full of slivers, the first thing, off these rough boards. And I can't see the sense, Bill-dear. Not when there's the kitchen up there, and the breakfast room and maid's room that could be shut off from the rest of the house. I'd like to know how it's going to cost more to live there. Do you think you boys would _eat_ more in that kitchen than you do here?" "Aw, hell! Come on, be a shport!" cried Luella into the silence, evidently believing that the two were playing pinochle. * * * * * The winter passed quickly, after that. Bill wondered sometimes if there hadn't been some mistake about that honeymoon trip to California. This was the kind of honeymoon he had dreamed of, when he dared to dream of so remote a bliss. Baby Mary was just a lump of sweetness thrown in for good measure; by the way, you should have seen how she took to mining. On warm days, Doris and the baby would go up to the mine, little Mary smiling back over her daddy's shoulder until they overtook Tommy and the burros, when she would insist upon riding burro-back. Sometimes she had her way, if one of the burros on shift chanced to be Wise One. Luella, of course, would go along, language and all. They would have a hot lunch, cooked over the camp fire by Doris, who wore khaki, these days, and high-laced boots, and did not look in the least like a lady millionaire. Lady millionaires do not as a rule drive two burros round and round in a circle, hoisting muck from a mine. They were up there--baby Mary trying her little best to lift a single-jack, and wrinkling her nose at Doris, who was busy with the burros--one morning in April. Bill and Tommy were both below, examining the effect of their "shots" of the evening before. Parowan was "talkin' to 'em louder 'n' the noon whistle," according to Tommy, and when Doris received the hoisting signal, she answered it and then picked up a double handful of rocks, with which to pelt the two burros whom nobody loved. Bill and Tommy had not been down underground longer than five minutes. Doris put an unexpected sharpness into her tone. The burros broke into a trot,--proving that the load was not muck. Bill heaved himself out of the bucket, his eyes dancing.