“Oh, that won’t harm,” cried Miss Brown, with a laugh which caused one enthusiastic miner to “cut the pigeon-wing.”
She got the miner’s touch to a nicety, and in a moment had a spray of dirty water flying from the edge of the pan, while all the boys stood in a respectful semicircle, and stared delightedly. The pan empty, Toledo refilled it several times; and, finally, picking out some pebbles and hard pieces of earth, pointed to the dirty, shiny deposit in the bottom of the pan, and briefly remarked:
“Thar ’tis, marm.”
“Oh!” screamed Miss Brown, with delight; “is that really gold-dust?”
“That’s it,” said Toledo. “I’ll jest put it up fur yer, so yer ken kerry it.”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Brown, “I couldn’t think of it—it isn’t mine.”
“You washed it out, marm, an’ that makes a full title in these parts.”
All of the traditional honesty of New England came into Miss Brown’s face in an instant; and, although she, Yankee-like, estimated the value of the dust, and sighingly thought how much easier it was to win gold in that way than by forcing ideas into stupid little heads, she firmly declined the gold, and bade the crowd a smiling good-day.
“Did yer see them little fingers uv hern a-holdin’ out that pan?—did yer see her, fellers?” inquired an excited miner.
“Yes, an’ the way she made that dirt git, ez though she was useder to washin’ than wallopin’,” said another.