“Course not! Some was got out in my father’s day, by the Mr. Mayo that owned the land before The War.�
“How did they get it out?� asked Dick.
“Dug it out with tools, of course. Aint there the old picks and sledges and things, setting there in that shed, that my father made for them? And Mr. Mayo—�
“Are they—�
Dick tried to interrupt, but Mr. Mallett went on with what he had to say: “He aint made much out of it. They say it was what they call ‘free silver’, and great-granddad chanced to strike where it was rich. It petered out, and silver was so scarce and the rock so hard it didn’t pay to work the mine. Some folks say that. There was a tale that the manager wasn’t trying to make it pay; he wanted to get the mine for himself. He tried to buy it. But he didn’t. He died. Anyway, The War came, and ’twasn’t worked any more.�
“Yes.� Dick accepted the fact that The War ended everything, even the worth of the silver mine. “It does seem, if it was real silver, we could see it there now,� he said thoughtfully.
“Shucks!� Mr. Mallett got up and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “Course they took out all in sight. Folks would have to dig for any more they got.�
“And the tools; will you—� Dick checked himself. If he asked for the tools now, Mr. Mallett would guess what he was planning to do and somehow all The Village would know before sunset. He must wait and manage to get them, without betraying his purpose.
Mr. Mallett was looking at the westering sun. “Fayett ought to be home,� he said. “He went to Redville, and he was to be back in time to help me with a little work.�
“Fayett!� exclaimed Dick. “Why, I didn’t know he came home for Easter.�