just one lonely highway—and gold at the far end!"
Ralph was late that evening, late and tired and impatient after an unsatisfactory day. He brushed past Felix, still sitting on the step, flung down his bundle of papers, and went over to the fire. The little carved money box stood open on the mantel, revealing its emptiness.
"What is this?" he asked Barbara sternly, as she stood in the corner, twisting her apron and finding, suddenly, that it was very difficult to explain. Felix came in, the light of excitement still on his face, eager to tell the tale.
He began to recount what they had heard, so carried away that he never noticed the gathering thundercloud upon his brother's face. The plains, the mountains, the shining rivers running to the sea—he seemed to conjure up all of them as he told the story, but Ralph's face never changed.
"So," cut in the elder brother at last when the younger stopped for breath, "it is for a fairy tale like this that you have wasted your time and your substance, have emptied my money box. You bought bees with it—bees! To buy bees when the forest is full of them and you can have a swarm from any neighbor for the asking. You spend my money that some lying rascal may be helped upon his way!"
"It was our money," Felix reminded him gently, beginning to be awakened from his dream by the bitter anger of the other's tone.
