not only their two bending
faces, but their two figures kneeling side by side. Two tall redwoods
rose on either side of them, like the columns before an altar.

There was a moment of silence. The drone of a bumble-bee near by seemed
to make the silence swim drowsily in their ears; far off they heard the
faint beat of a woodpecker. The suggestion of their kneeling figures in
this magic mirror was vague, unreasoning, yet for the moment none the
less irresistible. His arm instinctively crept around her little waist
as he whispered,--he scarce knew what he said,--"Perhaps here is the
treasure I am seeking."

The girl laughed, released herself, and sprang up; the pan sank
ingloriously to the bottom of the pool, where Fleming had to grope for
it, assisted by Tinka, who rolled up her sleeve to her elbow. For a
minute or two they washed gravely, but with no better success than
attended his own individual efforts. The result in the bottom of the pan
was the same. Fleming laughed.

"You see," he said gayly, "the Mammon of unrighteousness is not for
me--at least, so near your father's tabernacle."

"That makes no difference now," said the girl quickly, "for dad is goin'
to move, anyway, farther up the mountains. He says it's gettin' too
crowded for him here--when the last settler took up a section three
miles off."

"And are YOU going too?" asked the young man earnestly.

Tinka nodded her brown head. Fleming heaved a genuine sigh. "Well, I'll
try my hand here a little longer. I'll put up a notice of claim; I don't
suppose your father would object. You know he couldn't LEGALLY."

"I reckon ye might do it ef ye wanted--ef ye was THAT keen on gettin'
gold!" said Tinka, looking away. There was something in the girl's tone
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 cl