ing a big
position for yourself." He nodded in the direction of Devil's Hill.

"Out of gold?"

"Why not? It's an opportunity."

"What for?" Buck inquired, without a semblance of enthusiasm.

"Why, for going ahead--with other folks."

Buck nodded.

"I know. Goin' to a city with a big pile. A big house. Elegant
clothes. Hired servants. Congress. Goin' around with a splash of big
type in the noospapers."

"That's not quite all, Buck." The man at the door shook his head. "A
man when he rises doesn't need to go in for--well, for vulgar display.
There are a heap of other things besides. What about the intellectual
side of civilization? What about the advancement of good causes? What
about--well, all those things we reckon worth while out here? Then,
too, you'll be marrying some day."

Buck picked up the dust and carefully emptied it into the blazing
stove. He watched it burn for a moment, and then replaced the round
iron top.

"Marryin' needs--all those things?" he inquired at last.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," returned the other quickly. He knew
something was lying behind Buck's quiet manner, and it made him a
little uncomfortable. "Most men find a means of marrying when they
want to--if they're men. Look here," he went on, with a sudden
outburst of simple candor, "I want to be fair to you, and I want you
to be fair to yourself. There's an opportunity over there"--he pointed
with his pipe in the direction of Devil's Hill--"an opportunity to
make a pile, which will help you to take a position in the world. I
don't want you to stay with me from any mistaken sense of gratitude or
duty. It is my lot, and my desire, to remain in these hills. But
you--you've got your life before you. You can rise to the top if you
want to. I know you. I know your capacity. Take your share of the farm
money, and--get busy."

"An' if I don't want to--get busy?" Buck's dark eyes were alight with
a curious, intense warmth.

The Padre shrugged and pushed his pipe into the corner of his mouth.

"There's nothing more to be said," he replied.

"But ther' is, Padre. There sure is," cried Buck, stepping over to him
and laying one hand on the great shoulder nearest him. "I get all you
say. I've got it long ago. You bin worryin' to say all this since ever
you got back from sellin' the farm. An' it's like you. But you an' me
don't jest figger alike. You got twenty more years of the world than
me, so your eyes look around you different. That