The young collectors experienced the usual “red-tape” in offering the rare picture to the Museum, and after the customary delays, it was accepted with letters of thanks. Individual letters from several officials were written to Polly and her friends, voicing the appreciation of the men at being able to complete the series.

Shortly after this pleasing incident, the girls went out on another excursion just across the Hudson, in New Jersey. They took the ferry at One Hundred and Thirtieth Street, and after reaching Edgewater, drove through the small towns nestling on the Hackensack, until they came to the village of Hasbrouck Heights. All about this section are old, old houses, and if you hunt keenly enough, you will find delightful odd bits from Revolutionary days.

That evening, upon their return, the girls were eager to compare their trophies of the day, but the maid came in with a day letter for Polly. The others waited for her to read it, and as she read, her expression changed perceptibly.

“Oh, oh! It’s happened again!” cried she fearfully, as she finished the letter.

“What! What has happened?” anxiously asked her companions, crowding about her.

“Another slide on Grizzly. This time it has destroyed everything so that mining the gold is out of the question,” and Polly gave the message to Mrs. Fabian to read aloud.

“Bad land-slide on Grizzly. Demolished all machinery and wiped out the entire surface of mountain-top. No lives lost, but cave and vein of ore lost. Topography completely changed. Wait for summer to start new search and locate gold. Letter sent to Latimer and Dalken. Ask them for particulars. John Brewster.”

“Oh, Polly! That means that our gold mine has vanished, and all our income from it will be stopped!” cried Eleanor.

“We haven’t had any income to stop,” replied Polly, cynically. “About all the good we’ve ever had from Choko’s Find Mine has been violent physical exercise, expenses and the dreams that buoy hope.”

Her friends laughed in spite of the seriousness of the matter, and Eleanor added: “It also means that Daddy, and all of our New York investors, have lost the money they invested in the project.”

“Well, when Tom Latimer called on me the evening after our ducking in the Bay, he said he was not in favor of working on the mine so late in the season. He thought John was taking dreadful risks to keep the plant open when snowstorms and slides were imminent.

“But John told him that plenty of snow was just what was needed on the peaks, to cement the chasms and crevices together that had been opened by the summer’s heat and continued drought all Fall. In case no snow came, he said he would agree to abandon work when the cold weather became too severe to remain at that altitude.”

“This unexpected accident and loss of the mine does not prevent the output of the lava jewels, Polly, so there’ll be no noticeable difference in your income, will there?” asked Mrs. Fabian.

“Well, Tom explained it all to me. He said that mine affairs were so involved with the jewel works at Rainbow Cliffs, that one disaster affected the other interest. Rainbow Cliffs is part of Pebbly Pit Ranch, so the Cliffs were incorporated when work began on the mining of the lava. Then when trouble at Choko’s Find Mine started, the mines at Rainbow Cliffs were mortgaged to secure financial aid for the gold mine on the mountains. So that everything is mixed up now in this calamity,” explained Polly, tearfully.

Soon after this, the telephone rang. Mr. Latimer said he was coming to call, that evening, and Mr. Dalken wished to come in at the same time. Would the girls be home?

Polly assured him they would, and also that he would be welcomed as she wished to hear about the important matters that he could fully explain to her.

Soon after eight o’clock, therefore, Mr. Latimer and Mr. Dalken were announced. Polly and Eleanor—the latter had realized that maybe her future, because of this disaster to the mine would not be as luxurious as she had dreamed of—anxiously welcomed the two men. Polly lost no time in polite nothings, but asked, at once, about the conditions at the mines.

“I see you have heard about the trouble?” ventured Mr. Latimer.

“Yes, I received a long night letter from home, this afternoon. But they do not say whether there is anything left to pay my way in New York, or whether I ought to start for home,” said Polly.

Eleanor was shocked at her words. “Why, Polly, surely you have no dread of such being the case, just because our old gold mine is choked again?”

“Don’t you understand, Nolla, that starting work on the mine, and all the machinery for it, costs so much that not only is the lava mine involved, but the very ranch is risked. Maybe father will have to sell out his beloved farm and go away,” explained Polly, with quivering lips.

“Oh no, Polly,” hastily came from Mr. Latimer. “We are all stock-holders in this venture, you know, and one man alone does not bear the costs of the mine and its losses. That is why Mr. Dalken and I came over, tonight, when we got word that John had written you. We feared you might not understand matters.”

“But I understand father, well enough, Mr. Latimer. He will never permit anyone to lose a penny because of him or his interests.”

“Maybe he won’t, Polly, but this mining venture was as much our interest as yours, or your father’s, remember. It seems gone, this time, but we must take our loss as courageously as we would our profits. Tom wired me to come and see you and explain that you need make no change in any of your plans, as everything would go on as usual at the ranch. He and John will devote all of their time to the Cliffs now, instead of dividing their attention between the two mines, as they have been doing, heretofore,” explained Mr. Latimer.

“But your mother wrote me, Polly,” now said Mr. Dalken, “that finances would be rather strained for the next year, because of this tremendous outlay on the mines and no income; and the terrible drought that killed off so many head of cattle on the ranch this year, makes things look rather unpromising. I know how practical you are, and I thought it best to let you hear how matters stand. Your folks asked me not to mention it, because they wanted you to finish your studies here, and there are ample funds to pay for that. But I took it upon myself to warn you about going deeply into any antique purchases, in your auction fever.”

“I’m so glad you did, Mr. Dalken. As you say, I am not a silly child, and now that I know exactly how matters are at home, I will see if I cannot do something while studying in New York, to pay my own way,” responded Polly, anxiously.

“Oh, it isn’t as bad as that, Child!” laughed Mr. Latimer; “but it is best for you not to buy in Fifth Avenue shops, or give away rare old bargains from the country.”

Polly smiled. “Mr. Latimer, this is what I propose doing to earn my expenses in New York. Instead of buying old objects for fun, I shall secure them to sell again and make money.”

“Poll is right! And I propose going with her as the partner in her first business venture!” declared Eleanor.

“Where will you two girls find customers?” asked Mr. Dalken, admiring the way they accepted the news that their gold mine seemed wiped out for all time.

“Oh, Polly’ll find a way, never fear!” declared Eleanor with fervent faith in her friend’s ability to accomplish things.

“Yes, I’ll get Mr. Ashby, first of all, to permit us to exhibit our goods in his ‘odd room’ and we’ll pay him a commission for sales, just as other folks do who wish to exchange, or sell, their antiques,” explained Polly.

“Well, if you girls manage to find such valuable things as that famous missing picture that the Museum made such a time over, I should say you had found a big gold mine in New York instead of losing a little one in the Rockies,” said Mr. Dalken.

So, shortly after the girls learned that they had to economise on expenses that year, Polly carried her old coverlets to Mr. Ashby’s shop and left them with him to sell. The fine little mirror had been restored and was perfectly beautiful. This was placed on exhibition in the Empire Room of the Ashby Shop, but scarcely had it had time to be friendly with other rare objects in that room, before it was purchased at a high price. Thus Polly cleared several hundred dollars on the first sale, and felt encouraged to invest that money in new purchases.

Mr. Dalken gladly sent Carl with the car, to drive the girls whenever they heard of a place to visit, but Ruth and Nancy seldom accompanied them these days. Ruth had school to attend daily, and Nancy was painting a portrait for a famous stage beauty who had offered her an attractive price for the work.

The girls, with Mrs. Fabian, had gone again to New Jersey, after their great investment that day in Van Styne’s place; but they drove on to Baskingridge that day, and stopped at several ancient farm-houses to ferret for old things. At one of the places, they secured some very old glassware, also odd pieces of Staffordshire, and a well-nigh complete set of old Wedgewood dishes.

At another house they got a set of old brass fire-irons and a crane with all the hangers and pots complete, just as it had been removed from the brick fire-place and thrown up in the attic.

At the third house, Polly became enamored of a wonderful sampler, and several very old silhouettes—the latter, very different from the kind we are familiar with. As these old relics were in the attic and were considered valueless, she got them for a very small sum.

While Polly was bargaining for these trifles, Eleanor was in the grandmother’s room looking at several marvelous patch-work quilts. The old dame told Eleanor the story connected with each quilt; and one, the unusual one of silk pieces, as well as worsteds, patched in with calico, velvet and other odd materials, was said to be made of a collection of famous bits from gowns worn by the ladies of Revolutionary Days.

How the old grand-dame ever came into possession of such a valuable quilt, was beyond Eleanor’s comprehension. Then Polly and the house-wife joined her, and Polly was shown the quilt.

“How very interesting,” remarked she.

“Yes, and I’ll tell you how it came about,” explained Mrs. Johnson. “We’ve always lived on this place, and when the Army passed this way, our folks helped out in all sorts of ways.

“During the winter that General Washington and his Lady were stationed at Morristown, there was lots of doings all about the county. You’ll read in the history of Lady Washington, how she was entertained by the first families about here—the Fords, the Footes, and others.

“Our great-grandmother was a fine needlewoman and went about to the houses making gowns and cloaks for the ladies. She always saved the scraps of silk and stuff that was wasted, and of these she patched several quilts. On the back of each bit of these materials, she pasted little book-muslin tickets that had the name and date printed on it, of the lady and the occasion she wore the gown. So on the back of each of these pieces is still to be found the printing of that ancestress of mine.”

“Oh, isn’t this interesting!” exclaimed Polly, eagerly.

And Eleanor asked: “Where are the other quilts?”

“We don’t exactly know what happened to the others she made; but this one came right down from grandmother’s mother to her, then to my mother, and now to me.”

“Would any price tempt you to sell it?” asked Polly.

“Nothin’ on earth, whiles I live. But I haven’t any children, and goodness only knows what will become of the dear old heirloom. Why did you ask?”

“How I would love to own it! Not for its value in money but really to hold it as a precious patriotic reminder of those days when the ladies, even though they dressed fine and had good times, performed such heroic and almost super-human deeds for the Army,” explained Polly.

Mrs. Johnson gazed keenly at the girl’s face for a few moments, then said: “Tell me your name and address: I am going to write it out now, that this quilt is to be yours any time I die; and you must be as careful of it as we have been. Always keep tar-paper, or tobacco in it, during summer when moths fly about.”

Polly thanked the lady very seriously and promised to be most careful of it in every way, but she said she hoped Mrs. Johnson would live a long time to enjoy the quilt as her own family relic.

On the drive back through Morristown that day, Mrs. Fabian had Carl stop at Mr. Van Styne’s auction rooms, but the old man was not in, and the door was locked. A sheet of paper tacked inside the sash of the door, announced that the owner was at Parsippany numbering household goods for an auction to be held in two weeks’ time.

Mrs. Fabian made a note of the name and location of the house where the sale was to be held, and came back to the automobile. She showed the paper to the girls, and said:

“We’ll try to get out here for that sale. But I’ll write Mr. Van Styne first, and ask him what sort of things the people have.”

“Yes, it would be silly to come so far and find the house contained nothing but horrid old modern stuff,” said Eleanor.

Arriving home, late that afternoon, Mrs. Fabian was given a letter sent from the old auctioneer at Morristown. He had kept his word and notified the young collectors of the sale about to be held at Parsippany: the sale they had heard about that day.

“He says, in this letter,” explained Mrs. Fabian after reading it, “the old farm-house where the vendue will take place, is filled with real old furniture; the family that owned the farm have held it for five generations. Mr. Van Styne admits that he is not enough of a connoisseur to judge the actual value of the antiques, but there are some mahogany pieces, and loads of queer old things that his wife would have kept in the attic, or split up for kindlings. As he thinks this is what is now called ‘Period Furniture,’ he would suggest that we run out and have a look at it before the day of the sale.”

“The letter sounds exactly like him, doesn’t it?” laughed Polly.

“Yes, but it is very nice of him to be so honest about it. Most auctioneers would tell us the furniture was wonderful,” returned Mrs. Fabian.

“When do you think we can run out there, Mrs. Fabian?” asked Eleanor, eagerly.

“We’ll find out what day Carl can best arrange for the trip. We mustn’t ‘drive a willing horse to death,’ you know.”

Later in the evening, the telephone bell rang and Polly was called to the ’phone. The maid who answered the ring said it was a man’s voice but she had not been able to understand the name.

Eleanor heard her chum say: “Oh, really! We’ve been wondering what became of you. It was so surprising to find you were an old friend of our Mr. Dalken’s and then never hear from you again, or have anyone know where you had gone.”

Mrs. Fabian glanced questioningly at Eleanor, but the girl shook her head in token of her ignorance of who the caller could be. Then they heard Polly say: “Why, I reckon so. If you’ll hold the wire a moment, I’ll run and ask Mrs. Fabian.”

A few moments later, Polly rushed into the room and said eagerly: “Jack Baxter is on the ’phone and wants to know if he may come in, tomorrow evening, Mrs. Fabian. He says he has a little furniture commission for Nolla and me to take care of.”

Mrs. Fabian immediately replied that the young man would be welcomed the following evening, and Polly hurried back to deliver the invitation. Eleanor waited until she heard the conversation over the telephone resumed between the two, then she said to Mrs. Fabian:

“I bet anything, that Jack Baxter is really in love with Polly! I watched him all that time, after he was formally introduced by Mr. Dalken, and he just hung on her every word and act.”

Mrs. Fabian smiled. “That is the usual experience the young men have with Polly. I think the very fact that she is unmindful of her attractions, coupled with her indifference to the attentions of the male sex, acts as a spur to them; each tries to see if she will not capitulate to his individual charms.”

Eleanor laughed. “You speak as if you believed the young men to be egotistical enough to think they were charming.”

“They do, Nolla!” retorted Mrs. Fabian. “Every Adam’s son firmly believes he is more alluring and attractive to a girl, than his friends. That is why they all follow tamely after a girl who has no time for them: they cannot believe it possible that she is not overcome with their fascinations.”

Eleanor smiled as she listened, then she remarked: “I guess I’ll try Polly’s strategy and see if the beaus line up for me.”

“You have no need to experiment with any new tricks,” replied Mrs. Fabian, warningly. “There are enough sighing young men already, waiting to break their hearts and necks, for a mere glance from those impish eyes of yours.”

Eleanor laughed merrily at her chaperone’s words, but Polly’s return to the room interrupted their little talk.

“What do you think?” demanded Polly, as soon as she was in the room.

Not giving them time to answer, she said: “Jack Baxter is going to furnish a bachelor apartment in the city, and says he is going to give Nolla and me the contract for doing it. It will be our very first work as interior decorators!”

“Oh,” gasped Eleanor, “how can we do it?”

Polly looked amazed at such a question, and retorted: “Why, with money and brains, to be sure!”

“Is that why he’s coming tomorrow evening?” asked Eleanor.

“Yes; he is now staying at Mr. Dalken’s apartment, and both of them are coming over tomorrow. He says he has been West since we last saw him, and he stopped at Pebbly Pit to see the folks, on his way back from the Coast. That is why he has not been heard from—he was called away so suddenly, and just got back today.”

“I wonder why he took all the trouble to go to Pebbly Pit?” said Eleanor. “He didn’t know a soul there!”

“That’s what I asked him, and he says he will tell us all about it tomorrow night,” explained Polly.