Chapter: SOON after I got home that summer I persuaded my grandparents to have
their photographs taken, and one morning I went into the photographer's
shop to arrange for sittings. While I was waiting for him to come out of
his developing-room, I walked about trying to recognize the likenesses on
his walls: girls in Commencement dresses, country brides and grooms
holding hands, family groups of three generations. I noticed, in a heavy
frame, one of those depressing "crayon enlargements" often seen in
farmhouse parlors, the subject being a round-eyed baby in short dresses.
The photographer came out and gave a constrained, apologetic laugh.

"That's Tony Shimerda's baby. You remember her; she used to be the
Harling's Tony. Too bad! She seems proud of the baby, though; would n't
hear to a cheap frame for the picture. I expect her brother will be in for
it Saturday."

I went away feeling that I must see Antonia again. Another girl would have
kept her baby out of sight, but Tony, of course, must have its picture on
exhibition at the town photographer's, in a great gilt frame. How like
her! I could forgive her, I told myself, if she had n't thrown herself
away on such a cheap sort of fellow.

Larry Donovan was a passenger conductor, one of those train-crew
aristocrats who are always afraid that some one may ask them to put up a
car-window, and who, if requested to perform such a menial service,
silently point to the button that calls the porter. Larry wore this air of
official aloofness even on the street, where there were no car-windows to
compromise his dignity. At the end of his run he stepped indifferently
from the train along with the passengers, his street hat on his head and
his conductor's cap in an alligator-skin bag, went directly into the
station and changed his clothes. It was a matter of the utmost importance
to him never to be seen in his blue trousers away from his train. He was
usually cold and distant with men, but with all women he had a silent,
grave familiarity, a special handshake, accompanied by a significant,
deliberate look. He took women, married or single, into his confidence;
walked them up and down in the moonlight, telling them what a mistake he
had made by not entering the office branch of the service, and how much
better fitted he was to fill the post of General Passenger Agent in Denver
than the roughshod man who then bore that title. His unappreciated worth
was the tender secret Larry shared with his sweethearts, and he was always
able to make some foolish heart ache over it.

As I drew near home that morning, I saw Mrs. Harling out in her yard,
digging round her mountain-ash tree. It was a dry summer, and she had now
no boy to help her. Charley was off in his battleship, cruising somewhere
on the Caribbean sea. I turned in at the gate--it was with a feeling of
pleasure that I opened and shut that gate in those days; I liked the feel
of it under my hand. I took the spade away from Mrs. Harling, and while I
loosened the earth around the tree, she sat down on the steps and talked
about the oriole family that had a nest in its branches.

"Mrs. Harling," I said presently, "I wish I could find out exactly how
Antonia's marriage fell through."

"Why don't you go out and see your grandfather's tenant, the Widow
Steavens? She knows more about it than anybody else. She helped Antonia
get ready to be married, and she was there when Antonia came back. She
took care of her when the baby was born. She could tell you everything.
Besides, the Widow Steavens is a good talker, and she has a remarkable
memory."

 After two years at Harvard in which he completes his academic courses, Jim returns to Black Hawk for a visit. He finds Antonia has been disgraced with an out of wedlock baby and a desertion by her lover, Larry Donovan. He is disgusted with her and refuses to go visit her on her brothers farm. He also hears about Tiny Soderball, who has gone west, to Seattle, to open a boarding house for sailors. Everyone thinks she will become an immoral person, but Jim tells the story of her life. She went to Seattle and opened a boarding house for sailors. Then heard about the first gold rush in Alaska and went north with a carpenter and his wife. They arrived in Circle City and immediately heard of a gold strike further north. After an arduous journey, they arrived and helped found Dawson City. Tiny built a hotel and was very successful. A Swedish man, Johnson, hurt himself prospecting and lived in her hotel as he was dying. He was so taken with her that he left her his claim when he died. She sold her hotel, bought property in Dawson City, then went out to his claim and began buying and selling other claims until she became quite rich. Then she moved to San Francisco after she had been in the Klondike for ten years. Jim saw her as a "thin, hard- faced woman" who reminds him of Mrs. Gardener, her former boss in Black Hawk. She told him about her life, but with little feeling for the excitement of it. She only had feeling for Lena Lingard and Johnson, the man who gave her his claim. She convinced Lena to move to San Francisco and enjoyed her company.

