“Good-evening,” he said.
She did not return his greeting, but pulling uneasily at her glove, said hesitatingly: “Uncle has asked you to sell him this land?”
“Yes.”
“Well—don't!” she burst out abruptly.
He stared at her.
“Oh, I'm not trying to keep you here,” she went on, flashing back into her old temper; “so you needn't stare like that. I say, 'Don't,' because it ain't right, it ain't fair.”
“Why, he's left me no alternative,” he said.
“That's just it—that's why it's mean and low. I don't care if he is our uncle.”
Jackson was bewildered and shocked.
“I know it's horrid to say it,” she said, with a white face; “but it's horrider to keep it in! Oh, Jack! when we were little, and used to fight and quarrel, I never was mean—was I? I never was underhanded—was I? I never lied—did I? And I can't lie now. Jack,” she looked hurriedly around her, “HE wants to get hold of the land—HE thinks there's gold in the slope and bank by the stream. He says dad was a fool to have located his claim so high up. Jack! did you ever prospect the bank?”