“Were he and Mr. Simpson good friends?” asked Tom, thoughtfully.
“They were very intimate before they went to California.”
“And were you and Mrs. Simpson intimate, too, mother?”
“Yes; we lived in the same house. It was a double house, and each family occupied a part. You and Rupert Simpson were born the same day, and played together like brothers when you were both young boys.”
“It isn’t much like that now, mother. Rupert puts on all sorts of airs because his father is rich. He wouldn’t think of associating with me on equal terms. He thinks himself altogether superior to a poor boy who works in a shoe shop.”
“He has no right to look down upon you, Tom,” said Mrs. Thatcher, with natural motherly indignation. “You are superior to him in every way.”
“He don’t think so, mother,” he answered, “and I am afraid it would be hard to convince him. But it seems strange to me to think that our families were once so intimate. Mrs. Simpson rides in her carriage, and always wears silks or satins to church, while you are compelled to wear a cheap gingham for best. She never comes to call on you.”
“I don’t wish her to,” said Mrs. Thatcher, with honorable pride. “It would only be an act of condescension on her part, and Sarah Simpson isn’t the woman to condescend to me, who was born and brought up her equal.”
“You’re right there, mother. You are just as much a lady as she is, even if you are poor.”
“You spoke of father’s last letter to you, mother. I haven’t looked at it for a long time. Will you let me see it?”
Mrs. Thatcher went to the bureau, and from the top drawer took out an old letter, grown yellow with age, and unfolding it handed it to Tom. It was quite long, but a large part of it would be of no interest to my readers. I only transcribe the parts which are material to my story.
“I am glad to say, my dear Mary, that I have been very fortunate. John Simpson and I, some three months ago, chanced upon some very rich diggings, which, lying out of the ordinary course of travel and exploration, had thus far failed to attract attention. For a month or more we worked alone, managing in that time to ‘feather our nests’ pretty well. Then we sold out a portion of our claims to a third party for a large sum, and worked the balance ourselves. I don’t dare to tell you how much we are worth, but enough to make us very comfortable. I can say as much as that. It won’t be long before I come home. I could come now, but I think it a shame to leave so much treasure in the ground, when it can be had for the digging. A little patience, dear wife, and I shall come home, and place you and our darling children in a position where you will never again know the limitations of poverty.