“That ’s a railroad,” she said promptly.
He smiled. “It is the key, too—See—” He drew more lines rapidly, “When this touches the mountain, the iron and silver will come pouring out and it will run down this track—here, and here—” The pencil moved fast.
She followed it with grave eyes. She drew a deep breath and leaned closer to him. She lifted her face with a smile. It had caught the glow in his—but she did not speak.
He fell to sketching again and she nestled in his arm. By-and-by she put out a short finger. “Does folks live there—or Brownies!” she said, half whispering the words.
He looked up absently—“Where—Oh—on the mountain?—People live there—I suppose—”
“You ever seen them?”
“No,”—still absently.
She sighed a little. “I like folks,” she said.
“What?” He paused in his thought and looked at her with a smile—tolerant and old—“You like folks, do you?” The look teased her.
She nodded gravely. “They ’ll be glad—” Her finger was tapping at the mountain—“They ’ll like to have the beautiful things come pouring out—” She spread her hands with a little gesture of beneficent plenty.