journey up Black Bear Creek, and wooed her with a reckless fire that
set her aglow. And so she hummed and laughed and dreamed the days away,
her happiness matching the peace and gladness of the season.

With Burrell, on the contrary, it was a season of penance and
flagellations of spirit, lightened only by the moments when he was with
her, and when she made him forget all else. This damnable indecision
goaded him to self-contempt; he despised himself for his weakness; his
social instincts and training, his sense of duty, and the amenities of
life that proud men hold dear tugged steadily, untiringly at his
reason, while the little imp of impulse sat grinning wickedly, ready to
pop out and upset all his high resolutions. It raised such a tumult in
his ears that he could not hear the other voices; it stirred his blood
till it leaped and pounded, and then ran off with him to find this tiny
brown and beaming witch who was at the bottom of it all.

No months in any clime can compare with an Arctic summer when Nature is
kind, for she crowds into this short epoch all the warmth and
brightness and splendor that is spread over longer periods in other
lands, and every growing thing rejoices riotously in scent and color
and profusion. It was on one of these heavenly days, spiced with the
faintest hint of autumn, that Necia received the news of her
good-fortune. One of her leasers came into the post to show her and
Poleon a bag of dust. He and his partner had found the pay-streak
finally, and he had come to notify her that it gave promise of being
very rich, and now that its location was demonstrated, no doubt the
other "laymen" would have it within a fortnight. As all of them were
ready to begin sluicing as soon as the ground could be stripped,
undoubtedly they would be able to take out a substantial stake before
winter settled and the first frost closed them down.

She took the news quietly but with shining eyes, though her pleasure
was no greater or more genuine than Poleon's, who grasped both her
hands in his and shouted, gleefully:

"Bien! I'm glad! You'll be riche gal for sure now, an' wear plaintee
fine dress lak' I fetch you. Jus' t'ink, you fin' gol' on your place
more queecker dan your fader, an' he's good miner, too. Ha! Dat's
bully!"

"Oh, Poleon! I'll be a fine lady, after all," she cried--"just as I've
dreamed about! Wasn't it beautiful, that pile of yellow grains and
nuggets? Dear, dear! And part of it is mine!