which this budding lover resented. He had become sensitive.
"Oh, well," he said, "I see that it might make unpleasantness with your
father. I only thought," he went on, with tenderer tentativeness, "that
it would be pleasant to work here near you."
"Ye'd be only wastin' yer time," she said darkly.
Fleming rose gravely. "Perhaps you're right," he answered sadly and a
little bitterly, "and I'll go at once."
He walked to the spring, and gathered up his tools. "Thank you again for
your kindness, and good-by."
He held out his hand, which she took passively, and he moved away.
But he had not gone far before she called him. He turned to find her
still standing where he had left her, her little hands clinched at her
side, and her widely opened eyes staring at him. Suddenly she ran
at him, and, catching the lapels of his coat in both hands, held him
rigidly fast.
"No! no! ye sha'n't go--ye mustn't go!" she said, with hysterical
intensity. "I want to tell ye something! Listen!--you--you--Mr. Fleming!
I've been a wicked, wicked girl! I've told lies to dad--to mammy--to
YOU! I've borne false witness--I'm worse than Sapphira--I've acted a
big lie. Oh, Mr. Fleming, I've made you come back here for nothing!
Ye didn't find no gold the other day. There wasn't any. It was all me!
I--I--SALTED THAT PAN!"
"Salted it!" echoed Fleming, in amazement.
"Yes, 'salted it,'" she faltered; "that's what dad says they call
it--what those wicked sons of Mammon do to their claims to sell them.
I--put gold in the pan myself; it wasn't there before."
"But why?" gasped Fleming.
She stopped. Then suddenly the fountains in the deep of her blue eyes
were broken up; she burst into a sob, and buried her head in her hands,
and her hands on his shoulder. "Because--because"--she sobbed against
him--"I WANTED YOU to come back!"
He folded her in his arms. He kissed her lovingly, forgivingly,
gratefully, tearfully, smilingly--and paused; then he kissed her
sympathetically, understandingly, apologetically, explanatorily, in lieu
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