She was silent for a few moments, looking across the orchard.  The fruit trees were blurred and dim and the pines were black, but the sky shone softly red and green above their ragged tops.  Then she began to talk; disjointedly at first, but the scenes she recalled got clearer as she went on, and she forgot her audience.  It was her business to make things plain; she had studied this part of her vocation and unconsciously used her power to seize and hold the other’s interest, but she did not know that she was drawing a lifelike portrait of her guide.  Mrs. Farnam knew, and with a tactful question here and there led the girl forward.

It was, however, impossible to relate her journey and leave Thirlwell out.  He took the leading part that belonged to him, and his character was firmly outlined by her memory of the things he had said and done.  With something besides artistic talent Agatha unconsciously developed the sketch, dwelling upon his cheerfulness, courage, and resource.  She told the others how he had nerved her to resolute effort when they had difficulties to overcome, sympathized when she was tired, and held the confidence of his men.  Moreover, she made it obvious that there had been no romantic philandering.  He had given her an unselfish, brotherly protection.

The narrative lost something of its force after she came to the finding of the broken range.  She saw she had been franker than she thought, and the change in Thirlwell could not be talked about.  It was dark now, the red and green had faded above the trees, and she was grateful for the gloom.  She was not afraid of George and Farnam, but did not want Mabel to study her.  Only the latter noted that she paused awkwardly now and then and added a rather involved explanation.  The men were engrossed by Thirlwell’s efforts to find the ore.  When she stopped they were quiet for a few moments.

Then George said:  “You would never have struck the lode without that man.”  He turned to the others.  “Some story of a prospecting trip!  What do you think?”

“I think Agatha was very lucky,” Mrs. Farnam said with meaning.  “Perhaps luckier than she deserved.”

“Thirlwell’s all right,” George bluntly agreed, and then addressed Agatha:  “You have often got after me about being a business man, and I’ll own I don’t let many chances of making a dollar pass.  But this thing goes back of business.  Thirlwell’s entitled to half of all you get.”

Agatha was moved.  She had found out some time since that she had not always understood George.

“I offered him half,” she said and paused.  “He wouldn’t accept.”

Mrs. Farnam, seeing the girl was embarrassed, got up.  “I’m cold.  We had better go in.”

When she had lighted the lamp, Farnam went out and came back with a tray of bottles and glasses.

“It’s not often we celebrate an event like this,” he said as he opened a bottle.  “We have no wine, but this is some of our own hard cider that I meant to send to the Fruit-Growers’ Exhibition.  There’s nothing else good enough.”