And Andy Byers said that he was not surprised, for he had known for some little time that Birt was a “most MISCHIEVIOUS scamp.”

Only his mother believed in him, requiting his lack of confidence in her with a fervor of faith in him that, while it consoled, nevertheless cut him to the heart.  It has been many years since then, for all this happened along in the fifties, but Birt has never forgotten how staunchly she upheld him in every thought when all the circumstances belied him.  Now that misfortune had touched him, every trace of her caustic moods had disappeared; she was all gentleness and tenderness toward him.  And day by day as he went to his work, meeting everywhere a short word, or a slighting look, he felt that he could not have borne up, save for the knowledge of that loyal heart at home.

He was momently in terror of arrest, and he often pondered on Nate’s uncharacteristic forbearance.  Perhaps Nate was afraid that Birt’s story, told from the beginning in court, might constrain belief and affect the validity of the entry.

Birt vainly speculated, too, upon the strange disappearance of the grant.  There it was in the pocket of the coat late that night, and the next morning early—­gone!

Sometimes he suspected that Nate had only made a pretense of losing the grant, in order to accuse him and prejudice public opinion against him, so that he might not be believed should he claim the discovery of the mineral down the ravine.

His mother sought to keep him from dwelling upon his troubles.  “We won’t cross the bredge till we git thar,” she said.  “Mebbe thar ain’t none ahead.”  But her fears for his sake tortured her silent hours when he was away.  When he came back from his work, there always awaited him a bright fire, a good supper, and cheerful words as well, although these were the most difficult to prepare.  The dogs bounded about him, Tennessee clung to his hand, the boys were hilarious and loud.

By reason of their mother’s silence on the subject, that Birt might be better able to go, and work, and hold up his head among the men who suspected him, the children for a time knew nothing of what had happened.

Now Rufe, although his faults were many and conspicuous, was not lacking in natural affection.  Had he understood that a cloud overhung Birt, he could not have been so merry, so facetious, so queerly and quaintly bad as he was on his visits to the tanyard, which were peculiarly frequent just now.  If Birt had had the heart for it, he might have enjoyed some of Rufe’s pranks at the expense of Andy Byers.  The man had once found a sort of entertainment in making fun of Rufe, and this had encouraged the small boy to retaliate as best he could.

At this time, however, Byers suddenly became the gravest of men.  He took little notice of the wiles of his elfish antagonist, and whenever he fell into a snare devised by Rufe, he was irritable for a moment, and had forgotten it the next.  He had never a word or glance for Birt, who marveled at his conduct.  He seemed perpetually brooding upon some perplexity.  Occasionally in the midst of his work he would stand motionless for five minutes, the two-handled knife poised in his grasp, his eyes fixed upon the ground, his shaggy brows heavily knitted, his expression doubting, anxious.