ed pale face, and her little teeth revealed the bluish milky
whiteness of pips of young Indian corn.

"Wot yer lookin' at?" she asked frankly.

"You," he replied, with equal frankness.

"It's them duds," she said, looking down at her dress; "I reckon I ain't
got the hang o' 'em."

Yet there was not the slightest tone of embarrassment or even coquetry
in her manner, as with both hands she tried to gather in the loose folds
around her waist.

"Let me help you," he said gravely.

She lifted up her arms with childlike simplicity and backed toward him
as he stepped behind her, drew in the folds, and pinned them around what
proved a very small waist indeed. Then he untied the apron, took it
off, folded it in half, and retied its curtailed proportions around the
waist. "It does feel a heap easier," she said, with a little shiver of
satisfaction, as she lifted her round cheek, and the tail of her blue
eyes with their brown lashes, over her shoulder. It was a tempting
moment--but Jack felt that the whole race of gold hunters was on trial
just then, and was adamant! Perhaps he was a gentle fellow at heart,
too.

"I could loop up that dress also, if I had more pins," he remarked
tentatively. Jack had sisters of his own.

The pins were forthcoming. In this operation--a kind of festooning--the
girl's petticoat, a piece of common washed-out blue flannel, as pale
as her eyes, but of the commonest material, became visible, but without
fear or reproach to either.

"There, that looks more tidy," said Jack, critically surveying his work
and a little of the small ankles revealed. The girl also examined it
carefully by its reflection on the surface of the saucepan. "Looks a
little like a chiny girl, don't it?"

Jack would have resented this, thinking she meant a Chinese, until he
saw her pointing to a cheap crockery ornament, representing a Dutch
shepherdess, on the shelf. There was some resemblance.

"You beat mammy out o' sight!" she exclaimed gleefully. "It will jest
set her clear crazy when she sees me."

"Then you had better say you did it yourself," said Fleming.

"Why?" asked the girl, suddenly opening her eyes on him with relentless
frankness.

"You said your father didn't like miners, and he mightn't like your
lending your pan to me."

"I'm more afraid o' lyin' than o' dad," she said with an elevation of
moral sentiment that was, however, slightly weakened by the addition,
"Mammy'll say anything I'll tell her to