The squire had come over, as he said, “to hear about things.”  It was the first time he had seen Keith since the accident, though, after he had heard of it, he had written and invited Keith to come “and rest up a bit at his house.”

When the old man learned of the summons that had come to Keith, he relit his pipe and puffed a moment in silence.

“Reckon they’ll want to know why they ain’t been a realizin’ of their dreams?” he said, with a twinkle in his half-shut eyes.  “Ever notice, when a man is huntin’, if he gits what he aims at, it’s himself; but if he misses, it’s the blamed old gun?”

Keith smiled.  He had observed that phenomenon.

“Well, I suspicionate they’ll be findin’ fault with their gun.  I have been a-watchin’ o’ the signs o’ the times.  If they do, don’t you say nothin’ to them about it; but I’m ready to take back my part of the property, and I’ve got a leetle money I might even increase my herd with.”

The sum he mentioned made Keith open his eyes.

“When hard times comes,” continued the old man, after enjoying Keith’s surprise, “I had rather have my money in land than in one of these here banks.  I has seen wild-cat money and Confederate money, and land’s land.  I don’t know that it is much of a compliment to say that I has more confidence in you than I has in these here men what has come down from nobody-knows-where to open a bank on nobody-knows-what.”

Keith expressed his appreciation of the compliment, but thought that they must have something to bank on.

“Oh, they’ve got something,” admitted the capitalist.  “But you know what it is.  They bank on brass and credulity.  That’s what I calls it.”

The old man’s face clouded.  “I had been puttin’ that by for Phrony,” he said.  “But she didn’t want it. My money warn’t good enough for her.  Some day she’ll know better.”

Keith waited for his humor to pass.

“I won’t ever do nothin’ for her; but if ever you see her, I’d like you to help her out if she needs it,” he said huskily.

Keith promised faithfully that he would.

That afternoon Terpy knocked at his door, and came in with that mingled shyness and boldness which was characteristic of her.

Keith offered her a chair and began to thank her for having saved his life.

“Well, I am always becoming indebted to you anew for saving my life—­”

“I didn’t come for that,” declared the girl.  “I didn’t save your life.  I just went down to do what I could to help you.  You know how that mine got flooded?”

“I do,” said Keith.

“They done it to do you,” she said; “and they made Bill believe it was to hurt Wickersham.  Bill’s dead now, an’ I don’t want you to think he had anything against you.”  She began to cry.

All this was new to Keith, and he said so.

“Well, you won’t say anything about what I said about Bill.  J. Quincy made him think ’twas against Wickersham, and he was that drunk he didn’t know what a fool they was makin’ of him.—­You are going away?” she said suddenly.