“I hev hearn tell,” he added, “ez Nate air countin’ on goin’ pardners with a man in Sparty, who hev got money, to work the gold mine.”

Now and then, as he talked, he glanced up at his companion’s face, vaguely expecting to discover his opinion by its expression, but the light still played in a baffling glitter upon his spectacles.

Birt could only follow when the professor suddenly handed back the specimens with a peremptory “Come—­come!  We must go for the spade.  But when we reach your mother’s house I will test this mineral, and you shall see for yourself what you have lost.”

Mrs. Dicey’s first impression upon meeting the stranger and learning of his mission was not altogether surprise as Birt had expected.  Her chief absorption was a deep thankfulness that the floors all preserved their freshly scoured appearance.

“Fur ef Rufe hed been playin’ round hyar ter-day, same ez common, the rubbish would have been a scandal ter the kentry,” she reflected.

In fact, all was so neat, albeit so poor, that the stranger felt as polite as he looked, while he talked to her about employing Birt in his researches.

Birt, however, had little disposition to listen to this.  He was excited by the prospect of testing the mineral, and he busied himself with great alacrity in preparing for it under the professor’s directions.  He suffered a qualm, it is true, as he pounded the shining fragments into a coarse powder, and then he drew out with the shovel a great glowing mass of live coals on the hearth.

The dogs peered eagerly in at the door, having followed the stranger with the liveliest curiosity.  Towse, bolder than the rest, entered intrepidly with a nonchalant air and a wagging tail, for he and Rufe, having failed to find Birt, had just returned home.  The small boy paused on the threshold in amazed recognition of the old gentleman who had occasioned him such a fright that day down the ravine.

The professor gesticulated a great deal as he bent over the fire and gave Birt directions, and, with his waving hands and the glow on his hoary hair and beard, he looked like some fantastic sorcerer.  Somehow Rufe was glad to see the familiar countenances of Pete and Joe, and was still more reassured to note that his mother was quietly standing beside the table, as she stirred the batter for bread in a wooden bowl.  Tennessee had pressed close to Birt, her chubby hand clutching his collar as he knelt on the hearth.  He held above the glowing coals a long fire shovel, on which the pulverized mineral had been placed, and his eyes were very bright as he earnestly watched it.

“If it is gold,” said the old man, “a moderate heat will not affect it.”

The shovel was growing hot.  The live coals glowed beneath it.  The breath of the fire stirred Tennessee’s flaxen hair.  And Birt’s dilated eyes saw the yellow particles still glistening unchanged in the centre of the shovel, which was beginning to redden.