red it, and scrutinized it as
closely as he could in the lamplight, but he knew himself that these
were devices to gain time. The pearl showed all too clearly a flaw that
would make it valueless. Every one waited for his verdict. He was
conscious that his voice was a little shaky, but he answered as steadily
as he could:

"I'm afraid, sir----"

"Well?"

"I don't believe, sir----"

"That it's worth anything at all?" the farmer interrupted.

A solemn dignity, the accompaniment of great trouble, came to the man's
aid and gave him strength. "Thank you," he said; "I understand."

He looked around with a troubled glance and saw the far smaller but more
valuable pearl that his neighbor had found, which was still lying on the
table beside the instruments. A strong shiver shook him, but he made no
other sign. He turned to Colin.

"I see that it's no good," he said, "but I shall keep it just the same.
If you have finished with it----"

Colin stood up and placed the pearl in his hand.

"Please take it to some one else right away," he said. "I couldn't
sleep--suppose I were wrong!"

The old farmer looked at him gravely.

"No man would do as you have done and say what you have said, unless it
was so clear that he couldn't help but know," he replied. He turned to
the neighbors. "I'm afraid," he said, "I have in part spoiled your
pleasure, and," he added, with a twitch of the muscles of his face,
"made a fool of myself, besides. Come, Mary, we'll go home."

The others pressed forward with words of sympathy, but the stricken man
paid no heed and passed out of the door. Colin sat heavily back in his
chair staring moodily at the instruments, his heart sore within him, but
he knew he could have done nothing else. Yet the thought of the old
farmer's sorrow was powerfully before him, and he had to keep a strong
grip on himself to keep from showing an unmanly emotion.

Outside the little cottage could be heard a murmur of voices, as the old
farmer tried to comfort his wife, while inside the house no one spoke
lest he should seem careless of the grief and disappointment of those
who were still within hearing. Suddenly a third voice was heard outside,
speaking excitedly. Once again that tense clutch of suppressed emotion
permeated the room and Colin, with his heart in his mouth, looked up. No
one moved. Outside the voices ceased.

Then, through the open door, rushed a boy about twelve years old, muddy
from head to foot, but w