“My teeth are all sound,” said Bates.

“Thank the Lord for that!” the young man answered with an emphatic piety which, for all that appeared, might have been perfectly sincere.

“And the young lady?” he asked after a minute.

“What?”

“The young lady’s teeth—­the teeth of the intelligent young lady—­the intelligent teeth of the young lady—­are they sound?”

“Yes.”

He sighed deeply.  “And to think,” he mourned, “that he should have casually lost her just this morning!”

He spoke exactly as if the girl were a penknife or a marble that had rolled from Bates’s pocket, and the latter, irritated by an inward fear, grew to hate the jester.

When the meal, which consisted of fried eggs, pancakes, and potatoes, was eaten, the surveyors spent an hour or two about the clearing, examining the nature of the soil and rock.  They had something to say to Bates concerning the value of his land which interested him exceedingly.  Considering how rare it was for him to see any one, and how fitted he was to appreciate intercourse with men who were manifestly in a higher rank of life than he, it would not have been surprising if he had forgotten Sissy for a time, even if they had had nothing to relate of personal interest to himself.  As it was, even in the excitement of hearing what was of importance concerning his own property, he did not wholly forget her; but while his visitors remained his anxiety was in abeyance.

When they were packing their instruments to depart, the young American, who had not been with them during the morning, came and took Bates aside in a friendly way.

“See here,” he said, “were you gassing about that young lady?  There ain’t no young lady now, is there?”

“I told you”—­with some superiority of manner—­“she is not a young lady; she is a working girl, an emigrant’s——­”

“Oh, Glorianna!” he broke out, “girl or lady, what does it matter to me?  Do you mean to say you’ve really lost her?”

The question was appalling to Bates.  All the morning he had not dared to face such a possibility and now to have the question hurled at him with such imperative force by another was like a terrible blow.  But when a blow is thus dealt from the outside, a man like Bates rallies all the opposition of his nature to repel it.

“Not at all”—­his manner was as stiff as ever—­“she is lurking somewhere near.”

“Look here—­I’ve been up the hill that way, and that way, and that way”—­he indicated the directions with his hand—­“and I’ve been down round the shore as far as I could get, and I’ve had our two dogs with me, who’d either of them have mentioned it if there’d been a stranger anywheres near; and she ain’t here.  An’ if she’s climbed over the hill, she’s a spunky one—­somewhat spunkier than I should think natural.”  He looked at Bates very suspiciously as he spoke.