queried Johnson, suddenly, with a sharp look of suspicion.

Tommy looked up, shook his head, threw a stone at a passing rabbit, but
did not reply.

"When I fust set eyes on you, Tommy," continued Johnson, apparently
reassured, "the fust day you kem and pumped for me, an entire stranger,
and hevin no call to do it, I sez, 'Johnson, Johnson,' sez I,' yer's a
boy you kin trust. Yer's a boy that won't play you; yer's a chap that's
white and square,'--white and square, Tommy: them's the very words I
used."

He paused for a moment, and then went on in a confidential whisper,
"'You want capital, Johnson,' sez I, 'to develop your resources, and
you want a pardner. Capital you can send for, but your pardner,
Johnson,--your pardner is right yer. And his name, it is Tommy
Islington.' Them's the very words I used."

He stopped and chafed his clammy hands upon his knees. "It's six months
ago sens I made you my pardner. Thar ain't a lick I've struck sens
then, Tommy, thar ain't a han'ful o' yearth I've washed, thar ain't
a shovelful o' rock I've turned over, but I tho't o' you. 'Share, and
share alike,' sez I. When I wrote to my agint, I wrote ekal for my
pardner, Tommy Islington, he hevin no call to know ef the same was man
or boy."

He had moved nearer the boy, and would perhaps have laid his hand
caressingly upon him, but even in his manifest affection there was
a singular element of awed restraint and even fear,--a suggestion of
something withheld even his fullest confidences, a hopeless perception