"You ain't going to pay for having somebody else's property shingled?" "'Tain't going to be somebody else's. Going to be mine. I'm going to buy the farm. There's a fortune on it." The speaker's legs were planted far apart to preserve his equilibrium, but even at that he swayed so far toward his visitor that Blake put up his hand to hold him off. "Which have you found, gold or oil?" he asked, laughing. His host assumed an impressive dignity. "Not gold, not oil. Spring." "A spring? Of course you have. They're all over the lots. You'd better patronize 'em, too. You certainly need to put more water in it." "I'm goin' tell you secret, Blake," said Gayne. "Better not," said the carpenter good-naturedly. "Goin' tell you. I've found mineral spring here." "That so?" was the unperturbed reply. "Great and won-wonderful water. Don't tell anybody." "All right." "Had chemist 'zamine it. Says it's got everything in it to cure you. Fortune in it. Fortune. You don't b'lieve me." "Sounds a little fishy," remarked Blake. "Lemme take your arm--I'll lead you to it." The visitor supplied the arm and Gayne's heavy weight hung upon it. They went out of doors and Gayne stopped and looked around cautiously. "Where's that brat?" he demanded. "Do you mean the boy? He's over there by the cove. Asleep, I think." "Then come on. Can't trust him 'cause they're the kind that speak the truth. Fools, you know. Can trust you, Blake. Trust you anywhere." "Thank you," returned the visitor dryly. At some distance from the house, in a hollow overhung with rocks, the heavy weight on Matt's arm became heavier and Gayne pushed away some turf and stones with his foot, disclosing a puddle of dark-colored water. He stooped and, picking up a rusty tin cup, half-filled it, and presented it to his companion whose arm he released. "There, if you don't b'lieve me!" he said triumphantly. The carpenter accepted the cup doubtfully and smelled of it. "Phew!" he exclaimed with a grimace. "'Course," said the other. "Sulphur. Won'ful sulphur spring. Cure you of ever'thing. Had it an'lyzed. Drink it." Blake took a cautious sip. "Tell you, Matt," said Gayne, speaking slowly and nodding with tipsy solemnity, "'twas m' guardian angel guided me to that spring." The carpenter glanced at him with disfavor. "One sniff's enough to convince anybody o' that," he remarked. "At that, it's better for you than the stuff you've got in there on the table. Now, look here, Gayne, you're going to be sorry to-morrow you told me about this--" "Wouldn't tell anybody else," vowed Gayne, solemnly, seizing his companion by the arm and pushing back the concealing turf and stones with his foot. "Nobody else on this earth. Fools own the farm put up the price if they knew." "But what I was going to say is you needn't be sorry," went on Blake. "I'm not going to tell a soul. I don't want to be mixed up in your affairs, but do you think you can understand if I talk to you?"