“Shore there are. Cobwebs, dust, an’—an’” the old man, startled with a sudden thought, almost lost his balance and fell over, “an’ of course that ar Confederate gold. Shore enough. Whar else could it be?”
“You come over at five this afternoon and we’ll explore that place,” smiled Florence. “That is, if Mrs. McAlpin will permit us.”
“I’ll shore be thar at the apinted hour—sun time,” Uncle Billie beamed like an excited child.
“Plum quare gold it were,” he added as Florence hurried away to school.
At sight of the old log schoolhouse, all thoughts of the fabled gold were driven from her mind. The responsibilities of the day came flooding in upon her. What had been the results of yesterday’s affair? She had asked Marion to visit Ballard Skidmore in his home and get his story of the quarrel with Bud Wax. She did not doubt but that Bud had been entirely in the wrong, and hoped Ballard would return to school. Bud, of course, she would never see in her school room again. Somewhat to her surprise, she found herself regretting this. There was much good in the boy. She had grown rather fond of the sight of his restless blue eyes.
“If only he did not belong, body and soul, to Black Blevens,” she told herself, “one might make something of him.”
Again her mind went to work on the problems directly before her. How had Black Blevens taken the affair yesterday? Had he been the silent watcher on Lookout Rock? What had this setting of a watch meant? What would his next move be?
And what of the coming election? Would there be enough voters to enable them to win? Ransom Turner had promised to make a canvas of the community and tell her how matters stood.
Her trial? Her heart sank at thought of it! To be tried by a jury with all the mountain people looking on!
“But it’s all for them, for the little ones,” she whispered, and was comforted.