was sustained by the prospect of a larger "strike," but condemned his
contentment with a modest certainty. Nevertheless a little of this
suspicion encompassed his dwelling and contributed to its loneliness,
even as a long ditch, the former tail-race of the claim, separated him
from his neighbors. Prudently halting at the edge of the wood, Johnny
saw his resplendent vision cross the strip of barren flat, and enter the
cabin with Uncle Ben like any other mortal. He sat down on a stump and
awaited its return, which he fondly hoped might be alone! At the end
of half an hour he made a short excursion to examine the condition of a
blackberry bramble, and returned to his post of observation. But there
was neither sound nor motion in the direction of the cabin. When
another ten minutes had elapsed, the door opened and to Johnny's intense
discomfiture, Uncle Ben appeared alone and walked leisurely towards the
woods. Burning with anxiety Johnny threw himself in Uncle Ben's way.
But here occurred one of those surprising inconsistencies known only
to children. As Uncle Ben turned his small gray eyes upon him in a
half astonished, half questioning manner, the potent spirit of childish
secretiveness suddenly took possession of the boy. Wild horses could not
now have torn from him that question which only a moment before was on
his lips.

"Hullo, Johnny! What are ye doin' here?" said Uncle Ben kindly.

"Nothin'." After a pause, in which he walked all round Uncle Ben's large
figure, gazing up at him as if he were a monument, he added, "Huntin'
blackberrieth."

"Why ain't you over at the collation?"

"Ruperth there," he answered promptly.