A CHAPARRAL PRINCENine o'clock at last, and the drudging toil of the day was
ended. Lena climbed to her room in the third half-story of the
Quarrymen's Hotel. Since daylight she had slaved, doing the work of
a full-grown woman, scrubbing the floors, washing the heavy
ironstone plates and cups, making the beds, and supplying the
insatiate demands for wood and water in that turbulent and
depressing hostelry.
The din of the day's quarrying was over—the blasting and
drilling, the creaking of the great cranes, the shouts of the
foremen, the backing and shifting of the flat-cars hauling the
heavy blocks of limestone. Down in the hotel office three or four
of the labourers were growling and swearing over a belated game of
checkers. Heavy odours of stewed meat, hot grease, and cheap co
