reckon, by and large."

"That's a heap o' money, Jim! I reckon old Kernel Preston wouldn't
raise that in a hundred years," continued Maggie, warming her knees
by the fire.

"In five million years," said Jim, promptly sweeping away further
discussion. After a pause he added, "You and me, Mag, kin see
anybody's pile, and go 'em fifty thousand better."

There were a few moments of complete silence, in which Maggie
smoothed her knees, and Jim's pipe, which seemed to have become
gorged and apoplectic with its owner's wealth, snored unctuously.

"Jim dear, what if--it's on'y an idea of mine, you know--what if
you sold that piece to the Redwood Mill, and we jest tuk that money
and--and--and jest lifted the ha'r offer them folks at Logport?
Jest astonished 'em! Jest tuk the best rooms in that new hotel,
got a hoss and buggy, dressed ourselves, you and me, fit to kill,
and made them Fort people take a back seat in the Lord's
Tabernacle, oncet for all. You see what I mean, Jim," she said
hastily, as her brother seemed to be succumbing, like his pipe, in
apoplectic astonishment, "jest on'y to SHOW 'em what we COULD do if
we keerd. Lord! when we done it and spent the money we'd jest snap
our fingers and skip back yer ez nat'ral ez life! Ye don't think,
Jim," she said, suddenly turning half fiercely upon him, "that I'd
allow to LIVE among 'em--to stay a menet after that!"

Jim laid down his pipe and gazed at his sister with stony
deliberation. "And--what--do--you--kalkilate--to make by all