m! How I wish," Ozias Crann broke off fervently, "how
I wish I could jes' git my hands on that money once!" He held out his
hands, long and sinewy, and opened and shut them very fast.

"Why, that would be stealin'!" exclaimed Kinnicutt with repulsion.

"How so? 't ain't his'n now, sure--he war jes' the agent ter pay it
out," argued Crann, volubly.

"It belongs ter the mine owners, then--the company." There was a
suggestion of inquiry in the younger man's tone.

"'Pears not--they sent it hyar fur the percise purpose ter be paid out!"
the specious Crann replied.

"Then it belongs ter the miners."

"They hedn't yearned it--an' ef some o' them hed they warn't thar ter
receive it, bein' out on a strike. They hed burnt down the company's
office over yander at the mine in Tanglefoot Cove, with all the books
an' accounts, an' now nobody knows what's owin' ter who."

Kinnicutt's moral protests were silenced, not satisfied. He looked up
moodily at the moon now alone in the sky, for only a vanishing segment
of the great vermilion sphere of the sun was visible above the western
mountains, when suddenly he felt one of those long grasping claws on his
arm. "Now, Rufe, bubby," a most insinuating tone, Crann had summoned,
"all them fool fellers air diggin' up the face of the yearth, wharever
they kin find a Chilhowee lily--like sarchin' fur a needle in a
haystack. But we uns will do a better thing than that. I drawed the idee
ez soon ez I seen you an' Pete hyar this evenin' so onexpected. 'Them's
my pardners,' I sez ter myself. 'Pete ter holp dig an' tote ef the box
be heavy. An' you ter find out edzac'ly whar it be hid.' You uns
an' Loralindy hev been keepin' company right smart, an' ye kin toll
Loralindy along till she lets slip jes' whar that lily air growin'. I'll
be bound ez she likes ye a sight better 'n that Renfrow--leastwise ef 't
warn't fur his letter, honeyin' her up with complimints, an' she hevin'
the chance o' tollin' him on through doin' him sech faviors, savin' his
life, an' now his money--shucks it's mo' _our_ money 'n his'n; 't ain
't his 'n! Gol-darn the insurance o' this Renfrow! His idee is ter keep
the money his own self, an' make her sen' it ter him. Then 'Good-bye,
Chilhowee Lily!'"

The night had come at last, albeit almost as bright as day, but with
so ethereal, so chastened a splendor that naught of day seemed real. A
world of dreams it was, of gracious illusions, of far vague distances
that lured wi