'You ought not to be angry with me. It isn't fair.'

She was thinking of the day years ago when she was carried, all tattered
and torn, from the midst of that mob of sportive cattle. She was a very
little girl then, but the incident had remained fresh and vivid in her
mind, and ever since Harry Hardy had been a hero in her eyes. He only
remembered the affair casually and without interest.

'I am really very grateful to you for--for going away, because I know you
had good cause for your anger.'

Oh, that's all right,' said Harry again, inaptly.

'But you ought not to be angry with me. It pained me very much--the trial
and your mother's sorrow, and all the rest. It hurt me because it seemed
to set me on the side that was against Mrs. Hardy, and I--I always
admired her. I knew she was a good woman, and it was easy to see the
trouble cut into her heart although she bore it so proudly.'

'Oh, that's all right.' Harry was fumbling with the gravel in the hopper.
He was conscious that his replies were foolish and trivial, but for the
life of him he could do no better.

She waited a few moments, then bade him good morning and went across the
creek and away amongst the trees beyond; and Harry, resting upon the
handle of his cradle, watched her, absorbed, a prey to a set of new
emotions that bewildered him hopelessly. He was still in this position
when Chris looked back from the hill, and half an hour later Dick Haddon
found him day-dreaming amongst the tailings.