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 is asleep in bed. Oh, please, God, make Joe get well soon!

Mr. Donner came to inquire, before leaving for Colorado. Baa! Baa! Kate thought, sleepily, listening to his kind bleating voice, looking at his large mild face. Boiled mutton, but no caper sauce. "Yes, indeed, I'll tell Mr. Green—I'm so sorry he isn't allowed to see anyone yet. Thank you—thank you." Baa! Baa!

But she was grateful to Mr. Donner. He had helped Joe so much that perhaps next year all their dreams would come true—the house on the hill, the winter in Italy. Joe was so sure of it that Kate had begun to think of Italy as their property, to feel a modest pride when she read of water bluer than blue, of lemon trees gold and silver with fruit and blossoms. See, Westlake, see what Italy can do. Mr. Donner had a new claim, the Thunder Bird property, that would make them all rich as soon as shafts could be sunk and mining begun. Joe and Kate and Jodie would be rich, Lulu and Charlotte. Aunt Sarah would be richer, and even Carrie Pyne, who had brought her small savings to Joe to invest as an especial favor to her, would have something of her own at last. The thought of how well he was taking care of the family helped Joe more than medicine as he sat up in bed struggling to breathe.

This was the one solid thing he could anchor to in those gray waters where he drifted, between the