“Poor fellow! I don't wonder he does not want to speak,” thought Mrs. Hartsel. “I'll just let him alone;” and she spoke no more for some moments.
Alessandro sat still by the fire. A strange apathy seemed to have seized him; at last he said wearily: “I must be going now. I wanted to see Mr. Hartsel a minute, but he seems to be busy in the store.”
“Yes,” she said, “a lot of San Francisco men; they belong to the company that's coming in here in the valley; they've been here two days. Oh, Alessandro,” she continued, bethinking herself, “Jim's got your violin here; Jose brought it.”
“Yes, I know it,” answered Alessandro. “José told me; and that was one thing I stopped for.”
“I'll run and get it,” she exclaimed.
“No,” said Alessandro, in a slow, husky voice. “I do not want it. I thought Mr. Hartsel might buy it. I want some money. It was not mine; it was my father's. It is a great deal better than mine. My father said it would bring a great deal of money. It is very old.”
“Indeed it is,” she replied; “one of those men in there was looking at it last night. He was astonished at it, and he would not believe Jim when he told him about its having come from the Mission.”
“Does he play? Will he buy it?” cried Alessandro.
“I don't know; I'll call Jim,” she said; and running out she looked in at the other door, saying, “Jim! Jim!”
Alas, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her first glance in his face, her countenance hardened into an expression of disgust and defiance. Returning to the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining all disguises, “Jim's drunk. No use your talking to him to-night. Wait till morning.”
“Till morning!” A groan escaped from Ales-
