“Gold!” he ejaculated. “Gold!”
Was there a vibration of incredulity in his voice?
Birt remembered all at once the specimens which he had picked up that memorable evening, down the ravine, when he shot the red fox. Here they still were in his pocket. They showed lustrous, metallic, yellow gleams as he placed them carefully in the old man’s outstretched hand, telling how he came by them, of his mistaken confidence, the betrayed trust, and ending by pointing at the group of gold-seekers, microscopic in the distance on the opposite slope.
“I hev hearn tell,” he added, “ez Nate air countin’ on goin’ pardners with a man in Sparty, who hev got money, to work the gold mine.”
Now and then, as he talked, he glanced up at his companion’s face, vaguely expecting to discover his opinion by its expression, but the light still played in a baffling glitter upon his spectacles.
Birt could only follow when the professor suddenly handed back the specimens with a peremptory “Come - come! We must go for the spade. But when we reach your mother’s house I will test this mineral, and you shall see for yourself what you have lost.”
Mrs. Dicey’s first impression upon meeting the stranger and learning of his mission was not altogether surprise as Birt had expected. Her chief absorption was a deep thankfulness that the floors all preserved their freshly scoured appearance.
“Fur ef Rufe hed been playin’ round hyar ter-day, same ez common, the rubbish would have been a scandal ter the kentry,” she reflected.
In fact, all was so neat, albeit so poor, that the stranger felt as polite as he looked, while he talked to her about employing Birt in his researches.
Birt, however, had little disposition to listen to this. He was excited by the prospect of testing the mineral, and he busied himself with great alacrity in preparing for it under the professor’s directions. He suffered a qualm, it is true, as he pounded the shining fragments into a coarse powder, and then he drew out with the shovel a great glowing mass of live coals on the hearth.