Give it up? Never! Oh, no, not. They must stand by the farm. Thanny must work—she must work.
She got up hastily, and peered out across the fields in the eager hope of seeing Thanny with old Bess ploughing. Surely he would plough to-day; yes, there he was, but walking idly, moodily, about, with stooped-over shoulders, like an old man.
Poor Thanny! He hadn't wanted, anyway, to be a farmer, and after his brave little beginning out in the world—after father died—it had been hard to come home and settle down on the old "run-out" farm among the stumps and rocks and the meagre timothy heads.
Poor Thanny! Millia watched him with loving eyes. He looked so dismal in the dismal setting of stubbly fields, backgrounded by the dull sky, that she had no heart to upbraid him. Poor Millia!
The little kitchen wore its late-afternoon spick-and-span dress, and Millia sat in it, humming a little brave tune over her mending-box, when Nathan came hurrying, springing in. There was rare buoyancy in his step, and Millia wailed, astonished.
"Why, Thanny!" she cried, as soon as he got within hearing range.
Nathan Thacher's tanned face radiated excitement and triumph from every feature. His eyes were shining. Into Millia's hands he thrust a bit of jagged rock.
"LOOK AT THAT, MILLY—GOLD!"