“With the whole county to hang a man in,” expostulated Joe, “you might keep clear of Carr’s woods.”

It is needless to add that the young girls never knew of this act of violence, or the delicacy that kept them in ignorance of it.  Mr. Carr was too absorbed in business to give heed to what he looked upon as a convulsion of society as natural as a geological upheaval, and too prudent to provoke the criticism of his daughters by comment in their presence.

An equally unexpected confidence, however, took its place.  Mr. Carr having finished his coffee one morning, lingered a moment over his perfunctory paternal embraces, with the awkwardness of a preoccupied man endeavoring by the assumption of a lighter interest to veil another abstraction.

“And what are we doing to-day, Christie?” he asked, as Jessie left the dining-room.

“Oh, pretty much the usual thing—­nothing in particular.  If George Kearney gets the horses from the summit, we’re going to ride over to Indian Spring to picnic.  Fairfax—­Mr. Munroe—­I always forget that man’s real name in this dreadfully familiar country—­well, he’s coming to escort us, and take me, I suppose—­that is, if Kearney takes Jessie.”

“A very nice arrangement,” returned her father, with a slight nervous contraction of the corners of his mouth and eyelids to indicate mischievousness.  “I’ve no doubt they’ll both be here.  You know they usually are—­ha! ha!  And what about the two Mattinglys and Philip Kearney, eh?” he continued; “won’t they be jealous?”

“It isn’t their turn,” said Christie carelessly; “besides, they’ll probably be there.”

“And I suppose they’re beginning to be resigned,” said Carr, smiling.

“What on earth are you talking of, father?”

She turned her clear brown eyes upon him, and was regarding him with such manifest unconsciousness of the drift of his speech, and, withal, a little vague impatience of his archness, that Mr. Carr was feebly alarmed.  It had the effect of banishing his assumed playfulness, which made his serious explanation the more irritating.

“Well, I rather thought that—­that young Kearney was paying considerable attention to—­to—­to Jessie,” replied her father, with hesitating gravity.

“What! that boy?”

“Young Kearney is one of the original locators, and an equal partner in the mine.  A very enterprising young fellow.  In fact, much more advanced and bolder in his conceptions than the others.  I find no difficulty with him.”

At another time Christie would have questioned the convincing quality of this proof, but she was too much shocked at her father’s first suggestion, to think of anything else.

“You don’t mean to say, father, that you are talking seriously of these men—­your friends—­whom we see every day—­and our only company?”

“No, no!” said Mr. Carr hastily; “you misunderstand.  I don’t suppose that Jessie or you—­”