“The trouble with you, Gallito, is that you can’t bear for nobody, man, woman, child or devil, to get ahead of you.  I guess I know somep’n’ about the bringin’ up of young ones myself.”

Here Mrs. Thomas sighed and shook her head with that exasperated incomprehension which all women displayed when the subject of Mrs. Nitschkan’s children came up for discussion.  Educators discourse much upon the proper environment and training of the young of the human species, but theories aside, practical results seem rather in favor of casting the bantling on the rocks.  For, in spite of Mrs. Nitschkan’s joyous lack of responsibility, her daughters had grown up the antitheses of herself, thoroughly feminine little creatures, already famous for those womanly accomplishments for which their mother had ever shown a marked distaste, while the sons were steady, hard-working, reputable young fellows, always to be depended upon by their employers.

“It’s nothing but your pizen luck, Sadie,” murmured Mrs. Thomas.

“We must allow that Providence has been kinder to you than most,” remarked Gallito sardonically.

“It’s a reward,” said Mrs. Nitschkan with calm assurance, refilling her pipe with more care than she had ever bestowed upon her children.  “It’s ‘cause I ain’t ever shirked an’ left the Lord to do all my work for me.”

At this Mrs. Thomas, too overcome to speak, tottered feebly back from the stove and fell weakly into a chair.

“No, sir,” continued the gypsy with arrogant virtue, “the trouble with all the parents I know, includin’ present company, is that they’re too easy.  I don’t work no claim expectin’ to get nothin’ out of it, do I?  And I don’t bring a lot of kids into the world and spend years teachin’ ’em manners—­”

She was interrupted here by a brief and scornful laugh from Mrs. Thomas, who, on observing that her friend was gazing at her earnestly and ominously, hastily converted it into a fit of coughing.

“Spend years teachin’ ’em manners an’ sacrifice myself to stay at home and punish ’em when I might be jantin’ ’round myself, not to have ’em turn out a credit to me.”

There was a finality about the statements which seemed to admit of no further discussion, but after Jose had escorted the two women to their cabin, he had returned for one of those midnight conferences with Gallito over which they loved to linger, and the Spaniard had again expressed his satisfaction in Pearl’s changed demeanor.

Jose’s laughter pealed to the roof.  “You have eyes but for mines and cards, Gallito.  Though the world changes under your nose, you do not see it.  The moles of the earth—­they are funny!”

“Bah!” casting at him a scornful glance from under his beetling brows, “your eyes see so far, Jose, that you see all manner of things which do not exist.”

“I have far sight and near sight and the sight which comes to the seventh child,” returned Jose with pride.  “Therefore, seeing what I see, I say my prayers each day, now.”