“I wisht I hedn’t tole him!” cried Birt vainly. “I wisht I hedn’t.”
He watched her with moody eyes as she rose at last with a sigh and went mechanically about her preparations for breakfast.
There was a division between them. He felt the gulf widening.
“I jes’ wanted it fur you-uns, ennyhow,” he said, defending his motives. “I ’lowed ez I mought make enough out’n it ter buy a horse.”
“I hain’t got time ter sorrow ’bout’n no gold mine,” she said loftily. “I used ter believe ye set a heap o’ store by yer mother, an’ war willin’ ter trust her - ye an’ me hevin’ been through mighty hard times together. But ye don’t - I reckon ye never did. I hev los’ mo’ than enny gold mine.”
And this sorrow for a vanished faith resolved itself into tears with which she salted her humble bread.
CHAPTER VIII.
If she had had any relish for triumph, she might have found it in Birt’s astonishment to learn that she understood all the details of entering land, which had been such a mystery to him.
“‘Twar the commonest thing in the worl’, whenst I war young, ter hear ’bout’n folks enterin’ land,” she said. “But nowadays thar ain’t no talk ’bout’n it sca’cely, ’kase the best an’ most o’ the land in the State hev all been tuk up an’ entered - ’ceptin’ mebbe a trac’, hyar an’ thar, full o’ rock, an’ so steep ’t ain’t wuth payin’ the taxes on.”
Simple as she was, she could have given him valuable counsel when it was sorely needed. He hung about the house later than was his wont, bringing in the store of wood for her work during the day, and “packing” the water from the spring, with the impulse in his attention to these little duties to make what amends he might.