‘I don’t suppose the governor has laid up much,’ he said, ’for since Uncle Arthur came home he has done very little business, and has spent what really was his own recklessly and without a thought of saving, he was so sure to have enough at last, and Uncle Arthur was so free to give us what we asked for.  But that will end when he knows he has a daughter, and as he never fancied me much, I shall either have to beg, or work, or starve, or marry a rich wife, which is not so easy for a poor dog to do.  I don’t suppose that Governor’s daughter would look at me now, nor anyone else who is anybody.  By George, I ought to have called on Ann Eliza before this time.  I wonder if it’s too late to go there now.  I believe I’ll walk round there anyway, and if I see a light, I’ll go in, and if old paterfamilias—­how I’d like to kick him—­is there, I’ll tell him the news, and that I know now he did not strike Jerrie with the table-leg, and perhaps I’ll apologize for what I said when in the car.  Tom Tracy, you are a scoundrel, and no mistake,’ he added, with energy, as he arose, and struck into the field, through which he had dragged Ann Eliza the night of the storm.

There were lights at Le Bateau, and Tom was soon shaking hands with old paterfamilias, who was at home, and with Ann Eliza, who was now able to come down stairs.

CHAPTER XLVII.

ARTHUR.

He had enjoyed himself immensely, from the moment he first caught sight of grand old Pike’s Peak on the distant plains until he entered the city of the Golden Gate, and, standing on the terrace of the Cliff House, looked out upon the blue Pacific, with the sea lions disporting on the rocks below.  For he went there first, and then to China-town, and explored every nook and corner, and opium den in it, and drank tea at twenty dollars a pound in a high-toned restaurant, and visited the theatre and the Joss House, and patronized the push-cars, as he called them, every day, and experienced a wonderful exhilaration of spirits, as he sat upon the front seat, with the fresh air blowing in his face, and only the broad, steep street, lined with palaces, before him.

‘This is heaven! this clears the cobwebs!’ he would say to Charles, who sat beside him with chattering teeth and his coat-collar pulled high about his ears, for the winds of San Francisco are cold even in the summer.

Arthur’s first trip was to the Yosemite, taking the Milton route, and meeting with the adventure he so much desired; for in the early morning, between Chinese Camp and Priest’s, the stage was suddenly stopped by two masked marauders, one of whom stood at the horses’ heads, while the other confronted the terrified passengers with the blood-curling words: 

‘Hands up, every soul of you!’

And the hands went up from timid women and strong men, until click-dick came in rapid succession from the driver’s box, where Arthur sat, and shot after shot followed each other, one bullet grazing the ear of the highwayman at the horses’ head, and another cutting through the slouched hat of his comrade near the stage.