Dode was most interested in anything which concerned his father—or, rather, his physical or mental future—for once he died this place would have to be divided or he be called upon to run it, and in that case he would be a fitting catch for any neighborhood farming maiden, and as such able to broach and carry through the long-cherished dream of matrimony, now attenuated and made all but impossible by the grinding necessities he was compelled to endure. “Yes, I’ve been noticin’ somepin,” returned Mrs. Queeder. “He hain’t the same ez he wuz a little while back. Some new notion he’s got into his mind, I reckon, somepin he wants tuh do an’ kain’t, er somepin new in ’ligion, mebbe. Yuh kain’t ever tell whut’s botherin’ him.” Jane “’lowed” as much and the conversation ended. But still Queeder brooded, trying to solve the knotty problem, which depended, of course, on the open or secret sale of the land—secret, if possible, he now finally decided, seeing that his family had always been so unkind to him. They deserved nothing better. It was his—why not? In due time appeared a prospector, mounted on horseback and dressed for rough travel, who, looking over the fields of this area and noting the value of these particular acres, the surface outcropping of a thick vein, became intensely interested. Queeder was not to be seen at the time, having gone to some remote portion of the farm, but Mrs. Queeder, wholly ignorant of the value of the land and therefore of the half-suppressed light in the stranger’s eye, greeted him pleasantly enough. “Would you let me have a drink of water?” inquired the stranger when she appeared at the door. “Sartinly,” she replied with a tone of great respect. Even comparatively well-dressed strangers were so rare here. Old Queeder in a distant field observing him at the well, now started for the house. “What is that stuff you make your fences out of?” asked the stranger agreeably, wondering if they knew. “Well, now, I dunno,” said Mrs. Queeder. “It’s some kind o’ stone, I reckon—slug lumps, we uns always call hit aroun’ hyur.” The newcomer suppressed a desire to smile and stooped to pick up a piece of the zinc with which the ground was scattered. It was the same as he had seen some miles back, only purer and present in much greater quantities. Never had he seen more and better zinc near the surface. It was lying everywhere exposed, cultivation, frosts and rains having denuded it, whereas in the next county other men were digging for it. The sight of these dilapidated holdings, the miserable clothing, old Queeder toiling out in the hot fields, and all this land valueless for agriculture because of its wondrous mineral wealth, was almost too much for him. “Do you own all this land about here?” he inquired. “’Bout seventy acres,” returned Mrs. Queeder. “Do you know what it sells at an acre?” “No. It ain’t wuth much, though, I reckon. I ain’t heerd o’ none bein’ sold aroun’ hyur fer some time now.”