Agatha smiled. "Perhaps your theory's plausible, but it has some weak points."
"Anyhow, if father couldn't locate the vein he claimed to have struck, I reckon there's not much chance of your doing so."
"I mean to try," said Agatha, with ominous quietness.
George saw that she was resolute, and although he was obstinate knew he was beaten. Agatha could not be moved when she looked like that.
"I can't allow that you know best, but guess I may as well quit arguing," he remarked with a resigned shrug. "You'll come along and stop with Florence before you go back to Toronto?"
"I will come for a week," Agatha agreed, and George went away to look for Farnam.
Chapter VIII—The Burglar
George went away next morning and a few days afterwards Farnam walked home with his wife and Agatha from a visit to a neighbor's homestead. When they reached the edge of Farnam's orchard they stopped and looked about. An extensive clearing had been cut out of the forest, the evening was clear and cold, and the pines threw long blue shadows on the snow. The young fruit trees ran back in orderly rows, and a frozen creek that crossed the orchard was picked out in delicate shades of gray. Farnam told Agatha that he found the creek useful for irrigation, because he had known the apples to shrivel on the trees in a dry summer.