"Well, daddy," replied Evelyn, "if you haven't suffered too much by it, not only do I not regret it, but I'm glad. It has taught me to value the gifts of the mother Lode infinitely less, and infinitely more, than formerly. I can hardly wait overnight to claim my pot of gold from the rainbow's foot—but I'm humbler about the possession of wealth than I used to be. And I want the whole camp to be 'in it.'"
"And so they shall, my girl," responded Durant, heartily. Then, as two figures came in sight, "There goes the Sergeant now, with Mr. Maclane, passing by the gate. Suppose we begin with them, Evie. Suppose we call them in and tell them all about it." He already was summoning them.
"Suppose, for the present, you take charge of Mr. Maclane," amended Evelyn, as the two drew near, "and leave the Sergeant to me."
Scarlett and the minister were bent on some errand in another quarter of the town, but by tacit consent had taken the road past Evelyn's cabin, actuated, in the case of the older man, by a kind wish not to lose sight of her for long, and in the case of the lover by the force that guides all steps toward the beloved. For, dismissed as he had been, and dejected as he found himself accordingly, yet in his heart of hearts there still lurked a hope that she might relent toward him. When, therefore, they saw Evelyn, radiant, and beckoning to them from the veranda, they joined her and her father with alacrity. Nor did good Maclane need any suggestion from Durant that the two young people should be left to make their peace unaided.
"Sergeant Scarlett," Evelyn began when the older men had withdrawn to examine Durant's discovery, "I want to beg your pardon for the way I treated you this afternoon! I felt bitter, cheated—oh, it wasn't your fault one bit; it was my own, which was why I was so angry with you. And you—all along you have behaved so generously to me—nobly!—Yes, let me finish," she cried, retreating from the advance with which he sought to interrupt her. "I shall always think it—but I may not ever be in the mood to tell you again quite how well I think of you."
"But, Evelyn, dearest, what's the good of compliments to a hungry man?" cried Scarlett. "I'm asking ye for bread—and ye give me the blarney-stone."
Evelyn laughed, and, sitting, patted the place beside her, invitingly. "I'll tell you the whole story. It's like a romance—I was going to write you a letter about it if you had not come."
"We'll write it together. We'll write it all our lives." Her lover slipped an arm about her. "But we'll start with the postscript."