“Philip,” exclaimed Alice, rising to quit the room, and speaking hurriedly as if the words were forced from her, “you are as blind as a bat; Ruth would cut off her right hand for you this minute.”

Philip never noticed that Alice’s face was flushed and that her voice was unsteady; he only thought of the delicious words he had heard.  And the poor girl, loyal to Ruth, loyal to Philip, went straight to her room, locked the door, threw herself on the bed and sobbed as if her heart world break.  And then she prayed that her Father in Heaven would give her strength.  And after a time she was calm again, and went to her bureau drawer and took from a hiding place a little piece of paper, yellow with age.  Upon it was pinned a four-leaved clover, dry and yellow also.  She looked long at this foolish memento.  Under the clover leaf was written in a school-girl’s hand—­“Philip, June, 186-.”

Squire Montague thought very well of Philip’s proposal.  It would have been better if he had begun the study of the law as soon as he left college, but it was not too late now, and besides he had gathered some knowledge of the world.

“But,” asked the Squire, “do you mean to abandon your land in Pennsylvania?” This track of land seemed an immense possible fortune to this New England lawyer-farmer.  Hasn’t it good timber, and doesn’t the railroad almost touch it?”

“I can’t do anything with it now.  Perhaps I can sometime.”

“What is your reason for supposing that there is coal there?”

“The opinion of the best geologist I could consult, my own observation of the country, and the little veins of it we found.  I feel certain it is there.  I shall find it some day.  I know it.  If I can only keep the land till I make money enough to try again.”

Philip took from his pocket a map of the anthracite coal region, and pointed out the position of the Ilium mountain which he had begun to tunnel.

“Doesn’t it look like it?”

“It certainly does,” said the Squire, very much interested.  It is not unusual for a quiet country gentleman to be more taken with such a venture than a speculator who, has had more experience in its uncertainty.  It was astonishing how many New England clergymen, in the time of the petroleum excitement, took chances in oil.  The Wall street brokers are said to do a good deal of small business for country clergymen, who are moved no doubt with the laudable desire of purifying the New York stock board.

“I don’t see that there is much risk,” said the Squire, at length.  “The timber is worth more than the mortgage; and if that coal seam does run there, it’s a magnificent fortune.  Would you like to try it again in the spring, Phil?”

Like to try it!  If he could have a little help, he would work himself, with pick and barrow, and live on a crust.  Only give him one more chance.

And this is how it came about that the cautious old Squire Montague was drawn into this young fellow’s speculation, and began to have his serene old age disturbed by anxieties and by the hope of a great stroke of luck.