"Oh!"--he wanted to tell her, but his pride saved him in time. She was in rich in gold and land and cattle, in ore, too now; and he? He didn't know how he was going to fill his meal sack the next time it was empty. That was where matters had got with him. "I think I won't go on and say what, after all; let's not bother. Let's just be happy for the minute. That's something I have learned out here in Missouri, just to be happy when you get the chance, minute by minute, no matter what sort of hours are to come after. This, now, is so much more than I had hoped for. I hadn't really hoped to see you again before----" "Before what?" "Well, a fellow can't go on like this forever, can he? I expect I am going to cut all this." "_What!_ And leave Uncle Bernique?" "Uncle Bernique can hold the claim alone, you know. And I'm wasting hope and energy here. What's the use in staying longer?" She was very busy with the bacon now and he did not see her face. There was a wild quiver on it, of grief, fright, dismay. "You ought not to leave Uncle Bernique and Piney, I am sure of that," she said at last earnestly, almost commandingly. "Heigh-ho! I think Bernique is getting restless, too. He will be drifting off soon on that tidal wave of ore fever that comes over him; Piney has been gone for a great while. It's pretty lonely. It's getting on my nerves. Of course I shouldn't pet my nerves if I had any hope about the run here, but I haven't. I think that the work we have carried on is fairly conclusive." "But wait a minute, didn't you buy this land? Didn't you put some money in it?" Steering laughed blithely. "Not much," he said. The thing that made him laugh was the fact that though it was not much it was all that he had, and it was, in a way, amusing to consider how he was to get away from Canaan. Looking at Sally Madeira, who suggested luxury nonchalantly, trouble about ways and means was bound to be untimely and laughable. Indeed, looking at Sally Madeira all troubles were more or less laughable. "You haven't gone to Europe?" he reminded her, after he had drunk her health in the coffee. "No! I haven't gone." "Are you going?" "Not unless Father's health improves." "Isn't he well?" "No," her face clouded sadly, "he is over-working. Oh, you don't know how sorry I am," she began, and faltered. "Sorry? for him?" "Yes. And for you. And for m-- and because things have come around like this." "Let's not be sorry just now," said Steering. "Won't you, please, talk about glad things now. It's so pleasant to have you here." Since she was unhappy, he took charge of her unhappiness, and would not be serious any longer about anything. When she brought him his corn-dodger on a shingle and more coffee in a tin dipper, he was foolish with happiness, kept his own spirits high and overcame every little disposition to seriousness on her part until their picnic had to come to an end, and she must be starting back down the river road.