heraldry were very vague,—­Sacramento at that time offered him no opportunity of knowing what were the arms of the Atherlys,—­and the introduction of the royal crown seemed to satisfy Peter’s mind as to what a crest might be, while to the ordinary democratic mind it simply suggested that the corpse was English!  Political criticism being thus happily averted, Mrs. Atherly’s body was laid in the little cemetery, not far away from certain rude wooden crosses which marked the burial-place of wanderers whose very names were unknown, and in due time a marble shaft was erected over it.  But when, the next day, the county paper contained, in addition to the column-and-a-half description of the funeral, the more formal announcement of the death of “Mrs. Sallie Atherly, wife of the late Philip Atherly, second son of Sir Ashley Atherly, of England,” criticism and comment broke out.  The old pioneers of Rough and Ready felt that they had been imposed upon, and that in some vague way the unfortunate woman had made them the victims of a huge practical joke during all these years.  That she had grimly enjoyed their ignorance of her position they did not doubt.  “Why, I remember onct when I was sorter bullyraggin’ her about mixin’ up my duds with Doc Simmons’s, and sendin’ me Whiskey Dick’s old rags, she turned round sudden with a kind of screech, and ran out into the brush.  I reckoned, at the time, that it was either ‘drink’ or feelin’s, and could hev kicked myself for being sassy to the old woman, but I know now that all this time that air critter—­that barrownet’s daughter-in-law—­was just laughin’ herself into fits in the brush!  No, sir, she played this yer camp for all it was worth, year in and out, and we just gave ourselves away like speckled idiots! and now she’s lyin’ out thar in the bone yard, and keeps on p’intin’ the joke, and a-roarin’ at us in marble.”

Even the later citizens in Atherly felt an equal resentment against her, but from different motives.  That her drinking habits and her powerful vocabulary were all the effect of her aristocratic alliance they never doubted.  And, although it brought the virtues of their own superior republican sobriety into greater contrast, they felt a scandal at having been tricked into attending this gilded funeral of dissipated rank.  Peter Atherly found himself unpopular in his own town.  The sober who drank from his free “Waterworks,” and the giddy ones who imbibed at his “Gin Mill,” equally criticised him.  He could not understand it; his peculiar predilections had been accepted before, when they were mere presumptions; why should they not now, when they were admitted facts?  He was conscious of no change in himself since the funeral!  Yet the criticism went on.  Presently it took the milder but more contagious form of ridicule.  In his own hotel, built with his own money, and in his own presence, he had heard a reckless frequenter of the bar-room decline some proffered refreshment