into the old man's old choux in the cabbage-garden!" Any doubt,
however, of the alliance of the families was dissipated by the
intimacy that sprang up between the elder Slinn and the
millionaire, after the latter's return from San Francisco.

It began in a strange kind of pity for the physical weakness of the
man, which enlisted the sympathies of Mulrady, whose great strength
had never been deteriorated by the luxuries of wealth, and who was
still able to set his workmen an example of hard labor; it was
sustained by a singular and superstitious reverence for his mental
condition, which, to the paternal Mulrady, seemed to possess that
spiritual quality with which popular ignorance invests demented
people.

"Then you mean to say that during these three years the vein o'
your mind, so to speak, was a lost lead, and sorter dropped out o'
sight or follerin'?" queried Mulrady, with infinite seriousness.

"Yes," returned Slinn, with less impatience than he usually showed
to questions.

"And durin' that time, when you was dried up and waitin' for rain,
I reckon you kinder had visions?"

A cloud passed over Slinn's face.

"Of course, of course!" said Mulrady, a little frightened at his
tenacity in questioning the oracle. "Nat'rally, this was private,
and not to be talked about. I meant, you had plenty of room for
'em without crowdin'; you kin tell me some day when you're better,