in the sitting-room, where she might sit and chat with Jim while she made her flower-books, planning what they should do when he got well. How little she asked; how reasonable it was, how fair! And if only the "H. O. P." were to go to five dollars a share she would venture it.
Meanwhile people were bidding forty-five cents, and Inches had called twice in one morning to ask if she would not sell at that price.
"What makes them want it so much?" she asked on the occasion of his second visit.
"Oh, just an idea they've got that it's going higher," Inches answered indifferently.
"Well, s'posing it is; why should I want to sell?"
"Why, you'd have made a pretty good thing in it, and you might like to have your bird in hand, don't you know?"
Marietta sat down to her flower-books and worked on composedly, while Inches still lingered.
"That's a real pretty painting of the Peak over there," he remarked presently, nodding his head toward a crude representation of that much-travestied mountain.
Marietta knew better, but she said nothing.
