He comes close to her, sits down his gold-pan, and resting his pick on the ground, with his two hands on the top of the handle, leans toward her and looks into her innocent uplifted face.
The girl's eyes brighten, and she seems to grow tall and beautiful under his earnest gaze.
"I won't tell, sir. Oh, please to trust me, sir—I won't tell, Mr. John Logan!"
The boy eagerly comes forward also.
"I won't tell, neither. I won't tell neither; so help me!"
"Well, then, come close to me, Johnny, come close up here, and look in my face—there! Why, I declare the pleasure I now have, telling you this, is more than gold! And I need money sadly enough."
"You're awful poor, ain't you?" asked Stumps, hitching up his pants.
"Been workin' all day and ain't got much in the pan," says Carrie, looking sidewise at the few colors of gold in the bottom edge of the pan.
"Ah, yes, Carrie. Look at my hands—hard and rough as the bark of a tree; but I don't mind that, Carrie, I was born here, I was born poor, I shall live poor and die poor. But I don't mind it, Carrie. I have my mother to love and look after, and while she lives I am content."
The girl looks at the woods, looks at the man, and then once more at the woods, and at last in her helplessness to solve the problem, falls to eating nuts, as usual; while the man continues, as if talking to himself: