Nelly watched with all her might. Sure enough, flash! flash! flash! in all three of the cups it went; the cups were fiery red; as Mr. Kleesman took them out, they turned yellow; they looked like the yolk of a hard-boiled egg hollowed out,—and there, in the bottom of each, lay a tiny, tiny silver button! Mr. Kleesman carried them into the front room and weighed them. Two of them were heavy enough to more than weigh down the little button which was always kept in the left-hand scale. That showed that the ore had silver enough in it to make it worth while to work it. The third one was so small you could hardly see it. That was the one which belonged to the old man.
"You ore are not worth not'ing," said Mr. Kleesman to him. Nelly looked sorrowfully at the old man's face; but he only smiled, and said:—
"Well, that's just what I've suspicioned all along. I didn't believe much in all that blow-pipe work. I'm out about a hundred dollars,—that's all,—not counting my time any thing. It's the time I grudge more'n the money. Much obliged to ye, sir." And the philosophical old fellow handed out his three dollars to pay for the assay, and walked off as composedly as if he had had good news instead of bad.
Nelly looked very grave. She was thinking of what her father had said about Mr. Scholfield's blow-pipe.
"Perhaps Mr. Scholfield was all wrong too, just like this other man. Perhaps our mine isn't good for any thing."
Nelly's face was so long that kind-hearted Mr. Kleesman noticed it, and said:—
"You haf tired: it are too long that you look at too many t'ings. You shall sit here and be quiet."
"Oh, no, thank you," said Nelly: "I am not tired. I was only thinking."
Mr. Kleesman really loved Nelly, and it distressed him to see her look troubled. He wanted to know what troubled her; but he did not like to ask. He looked at her very sympathizingly, and did not say any thing.
"Is not a blow-pipe good for any thing to tell about silver?" said Nelly, presently.