Now, as he stood before the littered table, he glanced out at the sun. The morning was advancing all too rapidly. His eyes drifted across to his wife. She was still reading. A light sigh escaped him. He felt he should be out on his claim. However, without further thought he took the boiler of hot water off the stove and began to wash up. It was the clatter of the plates that made Jessie look up. "For goodness' sake!" she exclaimed, with exasperation. "You'll be bathing the children next. Say, you can just leave those things alone. I've only got a bit more to read to the end of the chapter." "I thought maybe it 'ud help you out some. I--" "You give me a pain, you sure do," Jessie broke in. "You get right out and hustle gold, and leave things of that sort to others." "But I don't mind doing it, truth I don't," Scipio expostulated mildly. "I just thought it would save you--" Jessie gave an artificial sigh. "You tire me. Do you think I don't know my work? I'm here to do the chores--and well I know it. You're here to do a man's work, same as any other man. You get out and find the gold, I can look after the house--if you can call it a house," she added contemptuously. Her eyes were quite hopeless as she let them wander over the frowsiness in the midst of which she sat. She was particularly discontented this morning. Not only had her thoughts been rudely dragged back from the seductive contemplation of the doings of the wealthy ones as the dime fiction-writer sees them, but there was a feeling of something more personal. It was something which she hugged to her bosom as a priceless pearl of enjoyment in the midst of a barren, rock-bound life of squalor. The sight of him meandering about the room recalled these things. Thoughts, while they troubled her, yet had power to stimulate and excite her; thoughts which she almost dreaded, but which caused her exquisite delight. She must get rid of him. But as she looked about the room something very like dismay assailed her. There were the hated household duties confronting her; duties she was longing to be free of, duties which she was tempted to abandon altogether, with everything else that concerned her present sordid life. But Scipio knew none of this. His unsuspicious nature left him utterly blinded to the inner workings of her indolent, selfish spirit, and was always ready to accept blame for her ill-humors. Now he hurriedly endeavored to make amends. "Of course you can, Jess," he said eagerly. "I don't guess there's another woman around who can manage things like you. You don't never grumble at things, and goodness knows I couldn't blame you any, if you did. But--but ther' seems such a heap to be done--for you to do," he went on, glancing with mild vengefulness at the litter. "Say," he cried, with a sudden lightening and inspiration, "maybe I could buck some wood for you before I go. You'll need a good fire to dry the kiddies by after you washened 'em. It sure wouldn't kep me long."