That's what I'm really afraid of most. In some ways, you're
very like father."

"You're persuaded the silver was an illusion?"

"I am persuaded," George declared. "Men who live in the frozen woods get
credulous and believe extraordinary things, and tales of wonderful lodes
are common in the mining belts. Father heard something of the kind and
brooded over it until he came to believe he had located the ore. He had
too much imagination and wasn't practical."

"But he gave me some specimens he found and they carry rich metal."

"I allow he thought he found them; but that's a different thing."

Agatha smiled. "Perhaps your theory's plausible, but it has some weak
points."

"Anyhow, if father couldn't locate the vein he claimed to have struck, I
reckon there's not much chance of your doing so."

"I mean to try," said Agatha, with ominous quietness.

George saw that she was resolute, and although he was obstinate knew he
was beaten. Agatha could not be moved when she looked like that.

"I can't allow that you know best, but guess I may as well quit
arguing," he remarked with a resigned shrug. "You'll come along and stop
with Florence before you go back to Toronto?"

"I will come for a week," Agatha agreed, and George went away to look
for Farnam.

CHAPTER VIII

THE BURGLAR

George went away next morning and a few days afterwards Farnam walked
home with his wife and Agatha from a visit to a neighbor's homestead.
When they reached the edge of Farnam's orchard they stopped and looked
about. An extensive clearing had been cut out of the forest, the evening
was clear and cold, and the pines threw long blue shadows on the snow.
The young fruit trees ran back in orderly rows, and a frozen creek that
crossed the orchard was picked out in delicate shades of gray. Farnam
told Agatha that he found the creek useful for irrigation, because he
had known the apples to shrivel on the trees in a dry summer.

At the edge of the bush a group of men were at work. The thud of their
axes jarred on the quietness, and the rattle of a chain rang musically
through the shadows as a teamster threw the links across a log. His
horses stood close by, with a thin cloud of steam rising from their
bodies.

"Lumber worth sawing is getting scarce, and we'll float the best logs
down to the mill when the thaw comes," Farnam said to Agatha. "In the
meantime, we want them off the ground before we clean up the pieces the
boys have slashed